O Come, O Come Emmanuel and Playstation

I remember reading on someones blog once that their special needs child has been Jewish, Catholic, Lutheran and a number of other denominations in their quest for a decent education to accommodate the child's differences.

The Boy attends a small Catholic school for special needs children. Because of this school and the remarkable teachers he has learned to read and write. And spell. And play a musical instrument. And make beautiful, award winning art. And he has learned to sing.

This morning as he is playing Monster Jam on his play station he is singing the above song at the top of his lungs. I was more than a little amused.

And then I started to reflect on how blessed we are.

Autistic Girl Expresses Unimaginable Intelligence

In view of our recent conversations like this one and this one I believe EVERYONE should watch the clip above.

How Far Removed Is This From The 'Useless Eater" Philosophy?

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Who decides societal worth?

Hitler began with the special needs population.

Just thought i should point that out for those of you who were unaware of this fact.

After reading Elizabeth's post on her blog A Moon Worn As If It Had Been A Shell I was re-directed to another post regarding a child being turned down for a kidney transplant because she was mentally retarded dooming her to certain death. For some reason I can't link to that blog so please go to Elizabeth's blog where you can freely access the post.

Reading the comments on Elizabeth's blog I realize that most folks have no idea this kind of discrimination occurs with special needs children and adults. Being in the medical profession I happen to know that this kind of discrimination does exist. Sometimes subtle. Sometimes not.

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You never know where you are gong to encounter "the attitude." I recall the pediatric dentist who we had been going to for years telling me that The Teenager wasn't a candidate for braces although she needed them desperately because, "she wouldn't know any difference anyway."

The Teenager sees her hummer limo for the first time on her 18th birthday

At least his attitude did not condemn my daughter to death like the little girl who needs a kidney transplant but it stung nevertheless.

Then please go here and read this article that was featured on our local news channel on January 13th and happened in Largo, Florida. A friend of mine who has an autistic son posted it on Facebook.

It hit dangerously close to home for my friend.

For those of you who do not know what the Baker Act is, it is an involuntary commitment to a mental health facility for no longer than 72 hours initiated by law enforcement, mental health professionals or members of the medical profession who deem that the individual (in this case a six year old autistic child):

• has a mental illness (as defined in the Baker Act).
• is a harm to self, harm to others, or self neglectful (as defined in the Baker Act).

I have to wonder why they Baker Acted this child instead of calling his mother?

You ask what is this world coming to?

Don't ask.

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You probably don't want to know.

Siblings, Inane Cosequences and Medicinal Marijuana

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I can think of a few readers of this blog who will wholeheartedly appreciate and relate to what I am about to say and other readers who will probably think I am the worse mother of special needs children in the world. To the latter group one word.

Pffffft.

It all started with an invitation to the birthday party of Mama Maria's granddaughter, Little Mia. I met Little Mia two years ago when she spent the summer with grandma Maria and found her to be a darling, polite, well-mannered little girl. Unlike my brood.

I had never met her parents, though. Until yesterday. Dear God. The poor things.

Little Mia's parents recently moved the family to Florida and decided to throw a birthday party for her complete with amazing cookout (ribs and burgers oh my!) and yummy cake with sprinkles.

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Earlier in the week I had purchased an impressive assortment of flavored lip glosses in little carrying cases for Little Mia....Nerd flavor....Ring Pop Flavor....and safely secured them on a high shelf. Safely secured that is until The Boy climbed up on something, removed the carrying cases, opened ALL of the lip glosses and yes, I don't even have to ask, slurped and slobbered all over every flavor. He is not bright devious enough to dispose of the evidence so he left it all on his bed complete with lip goo on the quilt and lip goo on the carrying cases and lip goo everywhere.

I. Could. Have. Wrung. His. Neck.

And since this was not an isolated incident and since he made The Baby cry twice this weekend with his bad attitude and made The Teenager cry with his relentless teasing this weekend and was almost road kill when he pulled out in front of a school bus on his scooter from the high sloped neighboring drive way he has been told to stay off of...oh....I don't know....about 128 times in the past 3 months.....and since the smarty, smarty informs me I will forget I'm mad in the morning because I always forget I'm mad in the morning and further reminded me, "you can't spank me because I have a fragile butt," I felt it was time to inflict some pain.

Physical butt warming pain would have been truly satisfying but psychic pain would have to suffice.

"You are grounded for the weekend and you will not be going to the party."


After my proclamation The Boy's pain level was about a 1.

When i came to my senses and realized my lesson regarding suffering consequences for wrongdoing was gong to cost me $10.00 and hour for a sitter my pain level was about a 5.


Curly T volunteered for the warden position babysitting job so before she arrived we ran to the store and bought a replacement present for Little Mia. One that The Boy could not ingest.

While there we also saw the two and only two movies that The Teenager wanted to spend her Christmas gift cards on. They were on sale so we grabbed them both and tossed them into the cart. Fortunately, the nice young checkout boy sputtered something about Blue-ray.

UH OH.

Try explaining to The Teenager that we don't have Blue-ray and that these wonderful bargains we found need to be taken back immediately. In hindsight it may have been easier to go out and invest in a Blue-ray home theater system than it was to explain and re-explain to The Teenager that we had to return the DVD's .

I found her hiding behind a post in Target crying and giving me the malocchio and she's not even Italian.

I was seriously doomed.

After I managed to drag her out of the store kicking and sobbing we rushed home to wrap Little Mia's present. WT? The Disney pj's I picked up to go with her Disney dolls were two sizes too small. Obviously when a "6" looks like an "8" to you with your glasses on it is time to get new glasses.

Could it get any worse? And why do I keep asking myself that insane question? Of course it can get worse. It generally does when you're on the expert slope and your skis fell off a mile or so back.

We make it to the party where shortly thereafter The Teenager has a sudden choking spell and while choking rushes the party table and heaves and gags perilously close to the cake with sprinkles

OMG.

Help me! Somebody Help me!

I truly thought she was going to blow chunks all over everything and everyone so Brasilia and I grabbed her and attempted to shuffle her off to the bathroom where she could blow up and out.

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She would not budge. It was like trying to move a rock. A big one.

Mercifully, the retching stopped having spotted the cake and ice cream so she plunks herself down at the head of the table.

"Is she ok?" asks Little Mia's mother who is cutting the cake.

Yes...she's fine. I'm puzzled. I'm standing behind the Teenager and I can't see her face. Why would she ask that? After all, it had been nearly one minute since the gagging drama.

"Because she's crying," Little Mia's mother states.

I walk around in front of The Teenager to get a better look. Sure enough, big tears are streaming down the cheeks. I'm even more nervous now because when this girl decides to wail she can wake the dead.

"What is wrong?" I fake sweetness through clenched teeth. I may have cracked a molar.

"I. sniff MISS. sob MY. snort BROTHER!"

Are you frickin' kidding me? Am I really hearing this with my own ears?

You mean the Brother you "H-A-T-E?"

The Brother you think should get his own apartment? At the age of 11?

The brother you wanted to trade in for a new baby yesterday?

The brother who eats lip gloss but does this to perfectly good potatoes?


The Jingle Bells all girls smell brother?

This brother?

Somebody please give me some of this...

Can I purchase it at Wal-Mart?

Or at the very least would someone introduce me to this woman? She looks like she could be a lot of fun...

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I'd be more than happy to wheel her around and be her BFF as long as I could legally inhale her second hand smoke.

Perhaps I should hire a nice nanny? I wonder if this guy would be interested?



He looks like he would be good with kids.

Enough said.

Tis The Season

According to The Artist I am now officially, "Dork mom"

It's been a while since I was able to sit down and post. The past two months have been a whirlwind. Starting with the November 22nd orthopedic surgery and subsequent Frankenfoot and ending with The Teenagers hospitalization after she plunged into respiratory distress last Monday, it seems like I haven't slept or sat down for ages. Throw in Christmas shopping, attempts at working for a living, school plays and vacation, housework, canning for the holidays etc., and I find myself in major need of a re-boot.

Thank God for organic coffee and wonderful friends.

Haggie Maggie and dork mom on Christmas Morning
BFF for 48 years

My dear friend Haggie Maggie was diagnosed with cancer recently and I spent as much time at the hospital with her as Frankenfoot would allow and once I was cleared to drive. I am amazed at how tough this woman is and how well she is doing. Radiation, chemo and radical surgery and she still keeps ticking. Strong enough to spend Christmas morning with the Pepper Posse which is a decades long tradition and in itself enough to bring the strongest person-alive to their knees.

*Please note the scarf from Island Rider in the above photo and note that it was also 80 degrees on Christmas morning. It keeps the air conditioning off of my neck and I love it!

The golden girl at Christmas

The Teenager has had a rocky December. When she aspirated at breakfast on December 7th it triggered a series of episodes which left her with left lower lobe pneumonia and a respiratory crash a week later that landed her in the hospital. The teenager has NEVER been in the hospital for an illness.

She loved the cable tv channel surfing, room service and spending the night with her big sister, The Genius who never left her side.



The Baby was a joy to watch at Christmas. She is the epitome of the Christmas spirit and truly loved every gift she was given. As Island Rider pointed out, however, The Baby is no longer a baby. I'm thinking we should have a contest to officially change her name.

I vote for Sassafras. Why? She has developed serious attitude which I suppose, is necessary for survival in this household.

The Boy is ...well...the Boy.

The Genius and The Boy.
Don't forget to brush your teeth before you burglarize the neighborhood, sweetie...

The Artist is here with The Boyfriend Every Mother In The Universe Would Love. I've stolen a recent photo of him taken by The Artist because I only managed to capture his foot on Christmas Day.

TBEMITUWL with Abby my grand-daugher

The Artist is spending a little extra time with us this year and I've loved having her here.

The Artist loves her brothers artwork which featured prominently in this years gift exchange

I am thankful for each and every one of my blogging buddies and am blessed to have met you! Praying you all have a wonderful holiday season and a healthy, happy and prosperous 2012.

Onward to a new year!

Merry Christmas 2011

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a healthy and happy 2012.

Obla Di Obla Da

Photo form Google Images

This week will be my first week back to work. I spent a good portion of my time calling my clients yesterday. One in particular touched my heart. A lovely black family who lives in a rough area that used to be called "projects" but are no longer called "projects." I can't remember the proper terminology because my aspiration in life has never been to be politically correct.

The family has three huge bubba boys under the age of 6. Always immaculately dressed with heads shaved clean and ready smiles that blind. I always feel like I'm in the presence of little George Foreman's destined for greatness when I'm with this family.

"Bubba #3 has really missed you. Every white woman in Wal-Mart he sees we think he thinks it's you and he has a fit trying to get to them." Mom says.

I can't wait to hug my littlest Bubba who always runs to me and affectionately choke holds my carotid arteries for the first five minute of our visit.

Finally got the sutures removed this week and the foot was re-xrayed. The outside of the foot is still walking-deadish but the x-ray was fantastic. For the first time in too many years to count I have a "normal' foot. The doc did a magnificent job removing all of that excess bone. I look forward to not being in chronic pain. I look forward to wearing real shoes.

Since the swelling went down I demonstrated to the skeptical doc how I am able to move my toes side to side.

The doc was stunned. Silence. And then he spoke.

"If you ever figure out how you can use this talent in society please let me know."

The Boy has a solo in the school Christmas play. He can't remember the words but doesn't seem to care. He continues to keep me on my Frankenfoot...

"You snuck out and went across the street to Buddy's because you knew I was talking to Cindy on the phone. I was distracted and you took advantage me!"

"You were talking to your friend who died?"

"Wha?"

"You were talking to your friend who died?"

Completely missing the point as always.

"How can I talk on the phone to a friend of mine who is dead?"

"Through a miracle."

Ah. Gotta love that child-like faith.


The Boy had his annual follow-up with Orthopedics. He will have surgery in May to replace the rod that is about to telescope up and out because of growth. It has served him well since it's insertion in 2002. I only hope it hangs in there unlike the other rod. His last femur fracture in 2008 was the stuff nightmares were made of with two surgeries in two weeks, significant pain and blood loss and a non-union of fracture and surgical osteotomy requiring a bone stimulator for over a year. He also re-broke the osteotomy at art camp during origami week but who's counting.


The Baby has mastered the Wii one-armed. She loves to sit and create Mii characters for hours on end. She has been weaned successfully off of the seizure medicine. The process took well over 6 months. Since this time she has begun to talk.

A lot.

The Teenager aspirated last week and we are fighting off the ill effects with inhalers and chest percussion. I have e-mailed the pediatrician requesting an appointment tomorrow. We will probably need a chest x-ray. I am praying she does not have pneumonia.

As I sit typing this entry, Frankenfoot elevated, I wonder...how will I return to work tomorrow, take The Teenager to the pediatrician and then to the hospital for a chest x-ray while making it home by 2:10 to get The Baby off of the bus and then to The Boy's school to pick him up by 2:30pm? Never mind dinner, baths, homework, dishes....

Thank God music therapy at 4:30pm has been cancelled.

I realize my "vacation" has come to an end and I find my self humming...

Oh Bladi Oh Blah Da

My own form of music therapy.