30 August 2011

I need a cape

Rookie mistake. I took the kids to the playground. By myself.

I was feeling like SuperMom. I'd gotten the kitchen cleaned up, done several loads of laundry, got the kids through their ABA therapy, had a friend over, made lunch, cleaned up lunch and I thought, "The kids are squirrely. I'll take them to the playground. That'll be fun." Seriously? What the hell? Did someone spike my espresso with stupid pills? I know better than this. And I certainly know better than to take the dog with us too! But no...

So, I loaded the kids and the dog into the van. A task in and of itself. Pop likes to go look for cats. Buddy the Yaptastic Bastard Dog likes to take a dump the second he exits the house. Of course, we have shared front yard with the rest of the strata, so I can't just leave it for later. Someone will see and it'll be a scandal of Lewinskyan proportions. I swear, he holds it as long as possible on the off chance that he'll get to shit somewhere other than the backyard.

Pop started to cry. "GROUNNNNN". This means "playground". He wanted to go the playground and was mad because he thought getting into the van meant we weren't going to. But I picked him up and put him in the van, letting him cry. Crackle climbed in without much fight. We drove past about 5 schools to get to a school that has a protected yard. That is, I need a good 50m of run time in case one of them bolts. If Crackle bolts, it's   major because he's FAST and doesn't respond to "STOP! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! STOP FUCKING RUNNING!". And I am not fast. Every ribbon I ever got said "Participation". So we need a school with lots of room between the play area and the street.

We got there and someone was doing maintenance on the school. He gave me the evil eye as Crackle screamed for no apparent reason, but we ignored it, and went around to the back. They played for about 10 minutes. During this time, Pop cried for me to help him climb, while Crackle tried to eat paint chips, run into the open classroom and otherwise get in trouble. The dog took another dump, which I had to pick up with a granola bar wrapper and then toss into a bush because I had nothing with me because he had just shit 10 minutes before. Then another Mom showed up. With three kids and a big bag of McDonalds food. Well, crap. Crackle is not to be trusted around food. He will take it right out of strangers' hands and eat it. And McDonalds... damn. He'd be sick for two solid weeks.

So we left. Of course, this made both of them cry. I promised and promised that we'd find another playground. We got back in the van and Crackle would not stop. I kept telling him, "We're finding another playground. Don't worry. Don't cry. We're going to play more." Unfortunately, he wasn't crying for that. He was trying to tell me that he needed to pee. So in the 6 minutes between the two schools, he peed the car seat. I keep extra pants in Halen (my van. Get it? It rocks) so that wasn't a huge deal. Except that while I was changing him, Pop ran off. No harm, no foul, he'd gone to the play equipment. We caught up with him and I let them play. This lasted about ... mmm, 5 minutes? Crackle started eating the blackberries. Which wouldn't be a terrible thing if a) they didn't affect him like crack or meth to the average person; b) I could be sure they hadn't been sprayed with pesticides. He wouldn't stop - remember what I said about him and food?

Final nail in the playground coffin? Two kids showed up and I suspect they were raised by wolves. Or Republicans or something. Because they pushed past Crackle on the slide to get down it ahead of him, and then made some snarky comment I didn't quite hear, but being the mother of Snap, recognised immediately as snarktastic. I didn't trust the words in my mouth not to come out as anything but a steady stream of profanity, so I said nothing. I turned to look at their bitch (What? I said they were raised by wolves!) and she gave me a look of "WHAT?!" so I shook my head and turned back to Crackle who was eating blackberries again.

That's when I lost it. "THAT IS IT! WE ARE GOING. NOW! MOVE! BACK TO THE VAN THIS SECOND!"

Oh right. And three seconds before all of this, I dialed MrFCS so I could vent for a few seconds. So just as he answered the phone...
 "THAT IS IT! WE ARE GOING. NOW! MOVE! BACK TO THE VAN THIS SECOND!"

"Um, is everything okay?
"NO! GODDAMN IT! *insert steady stream of profanity here*

So we got home. I threw the pants in the wash and said to Snap, "Look after the kids for 10 minutes so I don't kill them." (No, there was no worry of me actually killing or even hurting them. Don't fret.) She lasted about 2 and a half minutes.

When MrFCS got home, I didn't even wait until I had supper ready. I poured a large glass of wine.

They went to sleep at about 10:30. I'm going to start crocheting a SuperMom cape, I think. It'll be ironic.

25 August 2011

Growing food!

My garden is doing well. I'm finding I love the gardening. Watering, weeding, all of it. Maybe I just love having a few minutes to myself every day. :)

Tonight's haul, minus what I ate on the way home was two zucchinis, two yellow squashes and this large tomato. For size reference, the tomato is larger than my fist. I ate about 5 cherry tomatoes before I took the picture. Can't wait for the cherry tomatoes. They are *so* good.



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I had to remove my bible quotes widget. It was causing my browsers to crash. Anyone know of another?

Vaccines and Autism, again

I've long been interested in the link between vaccines and autism and if there is any at all. I've never for the first second believed that the MMR vaccine causes autism, but I have wondered loudly if the vaccine didn't make things worse for an already immuno-compromised kid. And this is what I read today in the NYTimes:

Many children injured by vaccination have an underlying immune or metabolic problem that is simply made apparent by vaccines.“In some metabolically vulnerable children, receiving vaccines may be the largely nonspecific ‘last straw’ that leads these children to reveal their underlying” problems, the report stated.

Hah! Vindication! The vaccine triggers the immune system, as it is supposed to, but that backfires in the case of immuno-compromised or metabolically vulnerable children, and the parent who didn't know there was a problem, all of a sudden sees it. The vaccine didn't cause the autism. It worsened the symptoms into visible range.

So what does this say to me? It's probably not a good idea to vaccinate a kid who you already know has autism. At least not until his or her immune system settles down and metabolic status has been determined. Does the kid have a metabolic disorder such as carnitine deficiency? How about Darvet's syndrome? Celiac Disease? Also, if autism runs in the family, it might be a good idea to wait and see if the new baby is neurotypical before doing vaccinations. Each family has to decide for themselves if the benefits outweigh the risks.

Throat-Punch Thursday: Publicly Celebrating Death

It's Throat-Punch Thursday again!

Second in the ongoing series (*preen* I remembered the word. Take that, sleep deprivation!) in which I throw a metaphorical punch at the throat of jerkwads and douchecanoes alike.

In today's edition, I give my pony some BC Bud and he gets really really high. I don't even attempt to get off of him. So here goes: Oh for the love of God people, would you stop publicly celebrating when someone you don't like dies?! Would a throat-punch convince you? Just nod your head, because I don't understand those choking noises.

When I first started this post, last Friday, I was thinking about Jonathan Bacon. By all accounts, a criminal, a gangster, a genuinely nasty piece of work. If you're happy he's dead, by all means, throw a little party, drink a bottle of champagne, whatever, but STFU about it in public, wouldja? Did you know he has a sister? A lovely woman who had nothing to do with his and his brothers' crimes. A woman who remembers her brother when he was a child, playing games. How do you think she feels to hear people literally celebrate his death? Do the feelings of anyone matter? I'll make an exception for his victims and their families. If you're Ed Schellenberg's family, for example, you get a pass. Though, honestly, it doesn't seem to be the victims and families. It appears to be random joes. People who are just happy that the world is rid of another gangster. And like I said, GO TO IT. Just shut your hole in public.

But since that time, Jack Layton, an even more public figure, has died. Jack was a good man, but many people really hated him because they're partisan hacks with a deep-seated fear of the kind of compassion that Jack espoused. They fear the idea of having to get by with a little less so that some people might have a little more. Or, maybe they just didn't like the guy. All of us have people who don't like us, even if we're good people. And so, out came the horrible commentary from the likes of Christie Blatchford and the snarky, crass tweets from Dave Naylor, a city editor for The Calgary Sun. Nasty, rude, mean words about a man who just tried to do his best for the country and all the people in it. Not just the rich ones. Not just the ones who run oil companies. Not just the ones who could help him get re-elected. Not just the ones who go to church. Not just the white ones. All of us. And what does his family get? Public, national exposure, of this vitriol. Even on the day of his death, they could read in a syndicated column, what an asshole their loved one was in the eyes of that writer and her ilk.

I admit, I didn't always agree with him. I didn't always like him. So bloody what? I also don't always agree with my Mom, and I love her. My blog gets an average of 20 hits per day. It's pretty unlikely that any of Jack's closest personal friends were reading. And I still took out the negativity when I realized how assholish it was. She's revelling in it. And Jonathan Kay is calling it courageous? Courageous? No. That's not courage. Courage would be admitting to a following of right-wingers that no, actually, he wasn't such a bad guy. Even if one didn't agree with him.

I'm not saying put on a fake spectacle of grief, like when the assclown of a jock at your highschool died because he was car surfing while drunk - the same guy who threw smaller kids into lockers and made a hobby out of sexual harassment - and you told the press how he was such a great guy and everyone loved him. No no. Just be quiet. Or I'll make ya. With my throat-punching fist.

And you know, I understand the emotion. I do. I remember when a certain right-wing politician died how pleased I was to have humanity rid of him. I was truly pleased. But I was alone in my house. I didn't do it publicly. I didn't have a nationally syndicated newspaper column in which I called him "gimlet-eyed". And I didn't personally tell thousands of his mourners that their public grieving of his death was a ridiculous spectacle. I shut up and smiled a little wider that day. And it hurt no one.


24 August 2011

I make milk. What's your superpower?

God, how I love breasts. Got your attention now, don't I? Bwahaha. SO not going where you were hoping. No, I mean, yeah, they're aesthetically pleasing if you're into that sort of thing, but the whole "can feed a kid for 6 months, all by itself" thing is seriously cool. Mine are made of awesomesauce. I could totally save a dozen kids in Somalia if I could manage to get there. Crackle weighed 25 lbs at 6 months, all from me. In the same time, I somehow didn't lose a freakin' ounce of weight and I'm pretty sure that defies some law of physics or gravity or something. I've been nursing one or two babies for 5 and a half years. First Crackle, then for about two days Crackle and Pop, and then just Pop. (Milk came back in and Crackle said, "BLECH!" and never nursed again - the little bugger dry nursed the entire way through my pregnancy - OW - and then when he got milk again didn't like it. Colour me bitter.)

I'm a big believer in breastfeeding. It's easier than formula, once you get the hang of it. No bottles to heat up and it's free. The food is perfect for the baby, and it's not got things like corn syrup solids in it. At least, I hope not. If yours does, lay off the corn syrup solids. Best of all, NestlĂ© doesn't make a red cent off it. I cannot stand that company. I personally boycott it. I know, they're crying in their NescafĂ© that they won't make that extra $75 this year. I think they'll manage.

I'm also a big believer that women don't get the support we need to breastfeed successfully a lot of the time. Mat leave is a joke if you don't have top-up benefits. Or a full-time job. I took sick days and then went back to work after 6 weeks. No mat leave at all, because I didn't have enough hours for EI. Many women go back to work well before we're ready, and well before the baby is even close to weaning.

The oft-touted 6 months? That's 6 months of exclusive breastfeeding, i.e. the baby gets no other food whatsoever. The WHO actually recommends breastfeeding after those 6 months until at least two years. Who can do that? SAHMs like me. Women with their own offices with places to pump. Women with really really awesome employers who give them pumping breaks.

And even if you are lucky enough to have a good mat leave, a good job with breaks, and an employer who isn't making moo jokes at you, what if you're just having a damned hard time of it? Cracked nipples, thrush, mastitis, bad latches, and lazy nursers will really put a damper on the nursing relationship. Most women don't know what to do in these situations, and turn to formula. Who can blame them?  I sure as hell don't. The Mommy Brigade might, but they're just trying to make their own decisions seem like the One True Path.

I'm a True Believer in doing what's right for you and your family. I think breastfeeding is a really good idea, and a really good thing to do if you can make it work for you. Formula is second-class food. It is. You can't argue that. It really is. Here's an analogy:

You have a yard. In your yard, there's an organic garden. You can feed your child from your organic garden. Or, you can go to the store and buy them synthetic food made from other food-like substances. Seems like the garden is the obvious choice. However, if you can't water it (i.e. nurse enough or pump enough), it's going to dry up slowly but surely. And if every time you go out there, you come back in crying because it is just not working for you, then either you find yourself a gardening expert or you give up and head to the store. And that's okay. We all have to do what's best for us. We can't all give our kids the very best of everything all of the time. We make do and we battle on.

Oh yeah, that's another thing, the nursing in public bit. I swear to your god, that I will blow a gasket if I see one more idiot comparing breastfeeding in public to a man pissing in public. Not. The. Same. For one thing, if when you pop a boob out you start spraying everywhere, you're doing it wrong. Or you really need to lay off the galactogogues. Two, breastmilk = edible. Urine? Not so much. I mean, go to town if that floats your boat, but it's not meant to be a beverage. It's a waste product. Milk is food.

And do tell, where's the ick factor coming from? I see, "EW! I don't want to see that!" so often on articles about breastfeeding in public. Why? Because people see breasts as sexual, and the idea of a baby suckling at them gives them the heebie-jeebies. Because women need to do with their breasts what men approve of, obvs! Their biological function? That sounds rather science-y. Might wanna check with God. Uh ohz. The Bible approves of breastfeeding. But it also tells women to obey their husbands. ACK. Okay. Now I'm just being sarcastic. But it's true that there's breastfeeding in the bible. And it happened, as He spoke these things, that a certain woman from the crowd raised her voice and said to Him, "Blessed is the womb that bore You, and the breasts which nursed You!" [Luke 11:27, NKJV] So even Jesus was breastfed. Which is why I figure I can breastfeed my kid in church. Besides, it shuts him up. And that makes everyone happy.

x-posted at Dawg's Blawg

23 August 2011

Go read something else, dammit

Dr. Dawg is giving me an audience over at his blog, since all of you, my darling comrades, are figments of my imagination. Go read. Comment (for a change *grin*). Read all his stuff. DO IT. Don't make me smite you.


22 August 2011

He didn't go gently. He fought, fought.

My heart is a little bit broken today. Jack Layton's death is such a tragedy for Canada, and such a personal tragedy for his family.

*edited* I always respected him for his ethics and code of honour. He was tireless in his fight for social justice - He's a man who fought for the rights of everyone. Right until the end. Even in his last days, when he knew there would be no time left for him in this world, he looked forward to the future for Canada. That's pretty impressive.

In his farewell letter to Canada, Jack said, "My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair."


Wow. 


**I took the negativity out. I read a post that made me shake my head at my classlessness and so I've taken out the honest, but unnecessarily negative commentary. Admitting when one is wrong is a start at not doing it again, no? 

18 August 2011

Throat-Punch Thursday: Leashes

If you don't read Rants from Mommyland, what the hell are you waiting for? CLICK THE LINK, DAMMIT. Lydia and Kate are geniuses and their blog is truly entertaining. And I'm not just saying that because they're going to let me write a post for them. I did a Domestic Enemies piece and it's going to run sometime. I expect you to read them EVERY DAY to see if my post is there. bwahahahaha!

Anyway, comrades, I've decided to give myself ideas, I'm going to attempt one of those weekly style dealies (bask, bask, I say, in my graceful language use). So today? Throat-punch Thursday. I'm thinking throat-punches are completely appropriate for people who say REALLY stupid shit.  Maybe I'll do a Finger-Snappin' Friday for stupid shit I read on the internet. I dunno though. There's only so much stupid I can take. If I go looking for it, we might end up with Suicide Saturday, and then that series would be remarkably short-lived.

In today's Throat-Punch Thursday, I offer you "Your child is not a dog! He should not be on a leash! Try some discipline." Fist of pent-up frustration, meet throat of stupid. Leashes are awesome for kids who bolt. They're fabulous for kids who hate to hold hands. And as for discipline, what exactly do you think leashes are for? They're for teaching kids the discipline of not running off. Hello? Were you saying something? Oh, sorry, I couldn't hear you over the gurgling in your throat.

Have you seen the video of the woman dragging her kid through the store on a leash? Every time I look at it, I think that a) she must have been having a hell of a day; b) why didn't anyone ask to help? c) If the kid isn't hurt, what's the difference between dragging him along a shiny, smooth floor, and picking him up kicking and screaming? I mean, it's not like he was getting rug burn or road rash. d) Crackle would love it if I did that to him. Pop too, I suspect. Crackle would have been giggling the whole way. Or at the very least grinning his face off and squealing with glee. Without sound, there's no context for the video.

Next time you see a kid on a leash, smile at the parent. Because I guarantee that parent has gotten at least 5 dirty looks in the last 10 minutes.

Speaking of dirty looks... EYE-GOUGE! Ferfucksake. If you are so passive-aggressive that you have to show your displeasure to someone but are too cowardly to say something to their face, at least write an amusing note. Because the dirty looks are really pushing the douchecanoe into the swamp. Next one I get, I'm turning to  them and saying, "Yes? You were thinking of saying...?"


17 August 2011

More medical stuff, this time I'm mad

Yesterday, I was saying that I was happy for our medical system, and I am, but it's not all peaches and cream, as all of you know. The same hospital that I went to yesterday, is the one in this tragic story. Now, the CBC is getting more and more sensationalist (calling the baby a newborn for example is wrong, because officially, it's a stillbirth. The baby died before delivery), but the story has a big ring of truth to me. I delivered both Crackle and Pop at that hospital. Pop's delivery was, as the nurse put it, "nice and civilized". It was a planned c-section. Crackle's was a nightmare (the little shit had a 16.5'' head, was turned upside down and had his chin up. And I had the worst midwife on the planet). And it was a nightmare made worse by the fact that the two anaesthetists were busy with other surgeries, and they had to call in one from the lake he was fishing on. On April 1. Guess who thought it was an April Fools' joke and had to be called twice. Yeah. Thanks Pal. But also, no thanks to the hospital for not employing an anaesthetist in obstetrics full time.

Now, I know VGH says they can't get anyone, and that the pay they're asking for is entirely unreasonable. Yes, I understand. There is a doctor shortage, and it's partially because of that big suckhole to the south of us. But that tide could be stemmed. Easily.

1. Stop subsidizing medical training. Make it cost full price. Provide student loans to all students requesting them. If someone is wealthy enough to pay, great. Let 'em.
2. When students come out with MASSIVE debt, agree to pay it off in full if they stay in Canada for 15 years. 10 if they'll do it in a rural area.
3. If they leave, the debt is entirely theirs. Sic the student loan enforcers on them. Seriously, I think the US should have told Canada Student Loans that Osama bin Laden had outstanding debt. They'd have found him in 3 weeks.

We also have a waitlist problem for dx tests. Part of that is due to not using equipment full time, because it costs too much to pay for the labour. This can also be fixed. AND it'll appease the right a little.

1. If someone wants to jump the queue, let them. However, they have to pay for the tech to run the machine, at union wages, at off hours.
2. They also have to pay for the first person on the waitlist to have an off hours test.

And I am reminded that not having proper staff in an L&D ward is clearly a feminist issue. It is simply unacceptable for any reason not to have a full staff in the region's only L&D ward. Women suffer needlessly for hours as we wait for the anesthetist to come from another surgery. They come in tired and worn out from being on call for too many hours, from being in with long complicated surgeries, and labouring women get to wait for that. Now, I'm not saying I had bad care from mine, I didn't. He was cranky and pissed off to be called in from the lake on a beautiful Saturday, but I might have been too. Especially given how overworked he is. Hell, I apologised to him! I'd been labouring for over a day, I'd been waiting for him or someone else for my emergency c-section for 3 hours, sucking on nitrous oxide like I was trying to influence a politician because my epidural had worn off many hours earlier and the 1st anesthetist was called into someone else's surgery and away from my care. And I took one look at the new guy and apologised. Yeah.

But see, other surgeries are more important. Women get the dregs. Again.

16 August 2011

medical system stuff*

Every time I go to the hospital, I`m reminded how much I like living in a place with good universal healthcare. I mean, sure, the facilities are a bit lacking in places, and OMG those poor nurses, but if I lived in the US, we couldn`t have afforded that. Today`s trip cost me nothing extra and involved no insurance paperwork. I hate the insurance companies. We`re fighting with them all the time to cover the compounded meds that the kids get. The runaround they give us is impressive and disgusting. They lie, they obfuscate, they delay. It`s a nightmare. If we had to deal with that shit for every test, every appointment, every specialist, I`d go postal.

Crackle`s test went really well. He was such a good little boy for me. Such a proud Mama I was. Thank you all for the kind thoughts. We`ve got a followup appointment with the neurologist next Friday. Of course they can`t tell you anything at the test itself, but I`ve found that if you butter up the nurses a bit, they give you some clues. While Crackle slept, I crocheted a potholder and gave it to the nurse (who was awesome and totally deserved a better treat than that). What that lead to was her saying, "I think it was a very good thing that you got this test done. Very good." And then a meaningful look. A few minutes later, "Call the doc and get a followup. Immediately." Uhm... Okay... So I told her that they said they`d call and book a follow up once they got the test interpreted. She said, "Yeah, that`s okay, but ... you just give them a call. You`ll get in sooner that way." So that fills me with dread and hope all at the same time. Weird, eh? Mostly, I`m just hoping it`s something that can be medicated and that he`ll make some progress.

Speaking of specialists, after this neuro, the next big one is a geneticist specializing in mitochondrial disorders. She`s at BC Children`s Hospital, so we get to take a trip over to the mainland. I was a little choked about that cost (the ferry for all of us will be about $65, I think, each way) but I found out that that`s covered too. I just had to fill out a form, call an automated system and get a number from it. We give that to BC Ferries, and they waive the fee. That`s kinda awesome.

So yeah. As much as I cannot deal with a lot of what`s going on in politics, I`m awfully glad to have our medical system. And it`s why I am so anti-conservative. They`d take all that away if they could. They`d have me dealing with the insurance company. If MrFCS could keep his government job. If not, too fucking bad, I guess. They`re truly heartless bastards.

Also? I think the father of Snap, Crackle, and Pop needs a better name. I`m kind of thinking Tony the Tiger. Hahahaha. Or maybe Lucky, the leprechaun from the Lucky Charms box. I'll think about it.

*It took me 15 mins to think of that post title. yes, I am that bad at thinking up titles.

15 August 2011

Scary shit


Crackle is going for a sleep EEG tomorrow. He has had a few seizures, and now they're going to see if they can record them with this fancy ass test. He has to be sedated, because there's no way in hell he'll lie still for it. I mean, there's a better chance that Rick Perry will convert to Islam. So yeah, sedation.

So I'm really nervous for him. He'll be so scared. And he's been off his taurine for a week (because that raises the seizure threshold) and he's already a mess. He's not sleeping well. Tonight he NEEDED to stack his shirts. And then he needed to get out of the house for a stroller ride. His Daddy has him out now.

And what's worse? He can't eat after 8am. He eats pretty much constantly. He's NOT going to understand why he can't eat. He's going to be a fucking disaster. Gah.

MrFCS is taking the day off work to help me with all of it. I do wish that weren't necessary. So yeah. I could use another drink.

A picture of him from the other day during our adventure at Royal Roads.

13 August 2011

Some days you're the windshield, some days, you're the wiper that has to scrape that shit off

We've had a bit of a rough week. It was the end of Crackle's run of antibiotics, which gave him the runs something fierce, despite probiotics. And next week he has an EEG, so we have him off his taurine, so that we can get a clear test, without that raising his seizure threshold. He's gone somewhat crazy. -er, that is. Crazier. Dude. He's off his nut. Sleep is clearly bullshit, and how could I be so stupid as to not know this? Toilets are for suckers. Floors are perfect for peeing on. Especially carpet, because hey, it makes it all dark and cool and then Mama has to get out the loud vacuum cleaner. AWESOME. And Pop? Oh  poor little guy. I had him out of his diaper, and he peed on the floor. He was so sure I'd be mad at him. Poor baby. "Mom MAD." I'd been so careful about not showing Crackle I was mad at him, I missed being careful that |Pop didn't see. So I said, "No baby, Mama's not mad. You're a good boy. It was an accident. Don't worry. Let's clean it up!" He looked at me and said, "MOM MAD!" *sigh* Must be more careful, I guess.

So, because of Crackle's aforementioned insanity and insomnia, I decided to play him out by taking him hiking in the woods today. So stupid, Luna. So stupid. Guess which one of us is played out and has a throbbing ankle.  I'm a mess. Probably because I'm old. It was my birthday last weekend (Sunday the 7th) and I'm taking this one hard for some reason. Maybe because it hit me that the friends we had over are actually closer in age to Snap than they are to us. That was a kick in the teeth. Anyway, I'm stalling. The hike... Good lord.

We went to the trails at Royal Roads University in Colwood. My darling son bolted on me and I chased him, laughing and joking with him. I was thinking that the run would be good for both of us. Ha. I would be the single worst person to have with you if you were lost in the woods. My sense of direction is inversely proportionate to my sense of smell. I can smell it if MrFCS is getting a canker sore. I can smell if the kids are getting a flu. So, you can imagine how bad my sense of direction is. Yes, I got all turned around and ended up a good hour's walk from my van, with an autistic 5 year old who was, by then, tired. And when he's tired, walking is, well, bullshit. No way. Not going any further. So... I bummed a ride from a very nice lady who happened to have an extra car seat. Seriously. What the chances of that were, I couldn't fathom. The very end of a very small campus, and a woman drives up in a van and has an extra child seat and she's willing to drive us back to the van. Thank you, God.

Mr Crackle was quite enamoured with this new experience. A new vehicle? Awesome. New people? Very cool. So, when she dropped us off, he said, "Bye!" ... to me. He wanted me to leave him with the stranger in the van. When it became clear that wasn't happening, he had a meltdown of EPIC proportions. He cried hysterically all the way home. He was hyperventilating when I got him into the bathtub.

Do you have any idea how heartbreaking that is? My son wanted me to leave him with a stranger. He wanted it so much he cried until he couldn't breathe. I've been in tears ever since.

So, tonight I'm sitting in my room quietly, and my darling husband has the boys out for a walk in the double stroller. I'm going to read a good book (Patrick Rothfuss's The Name of the Wind) and escape for a while. They'll be back soon.

04 August 2011

New and inventive ways Jesus worked for me.


How I got rid of my stalker. Feel free to use this.
The guy’s name was Keith and he stalked a number of girls/women. Several exes and me, his friend’s ex. Anyway, it was my turn (again), and he was following me freakin’ everywhere. One Sunday, I got mad and went to church. Afterward, he was standing there, trying not to be seen, watching, so I went up to him and said, “I am *so* glad to see you here! It is so wonderful that you’ve found Jesus! Here, take my hands!” Then I grabbed his hands and went off on the longest, sappiest, most cloying Jesus prayer I could think of. I prayed for his soul. I prayed for his health. I prayed for his family. I prayed for the baby of the people he was standing with pretending to know. I prayed for any and everything I could think of in that moment. 
NO ONE likes an evangelist (of that sort, anyway). I never saw him again.

My escape artist

Crackle escaped today. Gave me the scare of a lifetime. Here's the story: The garbage truck pulled up, prompting Pop to go wild screaming "OH NO! TRUCK! OH NO!" which just means, "TAKE ME OUT TO SEE THE TRUCK BEFORE IT GOES AWAY!" So, I took a glance at Crackle, who was jumping on the trampoline in the backyard, and stepped out the front door, leaving it open a crack so I could hear him if he fell or decided to eat coffee grounds or climb the stove, etc. Pop and I stood less than 5 feet from the front door and watched the truck pull up, empty the garbage cans, set them down and leave. So, literally, less than 4 minutes. During that time, I turned to the door twice to make sure the dog hadn't gotten out. He hadn't, the door was still just a crack open. So once the truck left, I turned around again and saw the door was open more. Figured it was the wind, or the dog nosing it open to see what we were doing. I went around to the back to check on Crackle. No Crackle. I checked his hiding spots. Nope. I ran up the stairs to his room. Nope. OMG. THE DOOR WAS OPEN. So I ran out the front and started hollering his name. Which frankly, was stupid, since he doesn't respond to his name, and just blocked out the sound of his vocal stim. I looked down the lane and didn't see him. I went quiet to listen and I could just barely hear him saying "Oh neee ah. Oh neee nyo." He's loud though, so I knew he was a ways a way. I was FREAKING. I ran back to the house to call the RCMP and my husband and there he was, walking up the sidewalk GRINNING his face off. He was so proud of himself. *sigh* What really gets me, is the little bugger must have watched to see that I wasn't looking and sneaked past me in the other direction. There's a building right behind where I was standing, so he'd have to have only gone one direction, the only one I couldn't see peripherally. Bugger.

I'm calling that my aerobic exercise for the day. What? It got my heart racing, didn't it?

This, after having only 3 hours sleep last nigh because wtf, he's 5 and has insomnia. I'm already past my 3rd shot of espresso this morning, and he's functioning on what? He's playing with a transformer toy right now. Optimus Prime. I make it into a semi truck and then he tries to make a robot out of it. About halfway through he gives up, or decides it's good enough and I have to transform it back into a truck.

On another note, Betty Fokker over at The Stay-at-Home Feminist has asked me to post 7 fun facts about me. So here goes:
1. I've got a weird memory for numbers. I can remember the phone numbers of the kids I was friends with in elementary school. Denise was 543-9358. I haven't used that number in 32 years.
2. I also have a weird memory for words. It's why I am good at learning languages. However, it's not like numbers. If I don't use them, they're temporarily gone. So, I got an A+ in German, but remember none of it. However, I could be basically fluent if I went there for a month or so. A month later, it'd be gone.
3. I really like symmetry. It can get a little stupid at times. I will rearrange the eggs left in the carton so they're in a symmetrical pattern. And the values that the tv settings are at are all perfect squares.
4. When I was pregnant, I craved mustard. MUSTARD! On everything. I put it on risotto.
5. I've had a bad back since I was 11 and some kids on a tobaggan used me as a jump. I don't think they meant to, but I was badly hurt. Silver lining? I got out of PE for the rest of the year. *SO* worth it.
6. I once punched a guy for trying to throw a girl into the snow. She was screaming at him and begging him not to, saying he was hurting her and would ruin her silk skirt. She called me a crazy bitch.
7. I have never once managed to lose a single pound by dieting. I don't even mean, I dropped a few and put back on more. I mean, it simply does not matter how much or little I eat, I do not drop weight by dieting or ramping up exercise. I just don't drop weight. Except sometimes completely randomly. Like when my foot was broken and I couldn't do anything but sit on my ass and eat. Then I dropped 12 lbs. About 6 of those are back.

So there. That was fun. And now I'm hungry. It occurs to me that 3 espressos with steamed almond milk is probably not enough to eat.

Who needs sleep? ME!

Who knew 5 year olds could have insomnia? Well, I do now. Crackle is averaging about 6 hrs a night, and last night, it was 3. 2.5 maybe. I dunno, I was too tired to see the clock. So suffice it to say, the blogging is taking a hit.

I've been thinking more about Breivik and Christianity, and I'm coming to the conclusion that we need to own it and look at what we've done or not done that has allowed that kind of a twisted system of beliefs to grow and still call itself Christian. I mean, there are a LOT of really nasty people who call themselves Christian. I don't think it's helpful to get all self-righteous and say, "Yeah, well, that's not Christianity! Jesus said love one another." Because, frankly, that's what they're saying too, except it's, "Yeah, well, that's not Christianity. The Bible says homosexuality is a sin." Yeah, the same guy also says women with short hair are sinning, but you don't see all that many who won't cut their hair (there are a few).

I think that's what infuriates me the most in the entire world. Hypocrisy. Besides the fact that I can never ever spell it right on the first try, the whole notion of it just bugs me. It's why I hated church when I was a teenager. I saw so many people there who were just plain mean SOBs during the week. And no nicer 2 minutes after the mass was over. I couldn't deal. I thought all churches were like that. Glad to say that's not the case.

The news media makes me feel that rage too. Claiming non-bias and then being insanely conservative, all the while screaming about the liberal media. I saw this example this morning, linked by @queerthoughts on Twitter.

I'm entirely too sleep deprived to do a proper post, so I'm going to leave it there, all cut off. But I do have another coming later today if I get the chance to sit down again for 10 minutes. The Lady Fokker has asked me to post 7 "fun facts", and I'm pretty sure I can be entertaining for that. :)