tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83670519210261106612024-03-05T16:52:05.628-08:00The Secret Pepper SocietySECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.comBlogger297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-89470261047702044372012-09-15T06:58:00.001-07:002012-09-15T06:58:05.892-07:00 Begin At The Beginning And Go On Till You Come To The End: Then Stop. <a href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0DwKfNisq3s/UFR37ZJNHfI/AAAAAAAACqY/U-AcAYO325s/s1600/Feb2012031-1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0DwKfNisq3s/UFR37ZJNHfI/AAAAAAAACqY/U-AcAYO325s/s320/Feb2012031-1-1.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />The King's quote (Alice In Wonderland, of course) sums up my current effort to return to blogging. Was my last post really April 21st? eblogger format has changed so much I barely recognize it. This post may take a while...<br />
<br />
Thank you to all of the kindhearted among you who tossed emails and snail mails into the rabbit hole while searching for us over the past 5 months.We are all perfectly fine but as busy as The Boy's collage above.<br />
<br />
In other words, nothing much has changed. <br />
<br />
A few family firsts that are noteworthy:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--gTYxBo7ojo/UFR4WwW4FJI/AAAAAAAACqg/iDtDaZ7lG9A/s1600/First+Day+of+Kindergarten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--gTYxBo7ojo/UFR4WwW4FJI/AAAAAAAACqg/iDtDaZ7lG9A/s320/First+Day+of+Kindergarten.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
The Baby's first day of Kindergarten. <br />
<br />
She has begun talking in sentences. She has officially hit the terrible two's albeit 3 years late. Yesterday, was her last day in a restaurant for a loooooong time due to a colossal melt down regarding a lettuce garnish on her plate. She simply did not like it.<br />
<br />
Yes, my sweet, compliant Baby has become...well...a normal twerp. She fits right in with the rest of the twerps. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvl7G0E7sSnMgze9Fp0jnPh4C2csdDdqI-jtF3XuI1ACXP0mJ81cHosCJlkuGYl5R7OOfAwupbOWy3Z3or6zDrk0bjBBkM60n4o6lJK_V9mk8sepd45pfCWCmMCOdoeT5nymna0J0zTzz6/s1600/Kirawithhat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvl7G0E7sSnMgze9Fp0jnPh4C2csdDdqI-jtF3XuI1ACXP0mJ81cHosCJlkuGYl5R7OOfAwupbOWy3Z3or6zDrk0bjBBkM60n4o6lJK_V9mk8sepd45pfCWCmMCOdoeT5nymna0J0zTzz6/s320/Kirawithhat.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
The Teenager turned 19!<br />
<br />
She is pictured above in a stylish,singing birthday hat provided by The Genius. The Teenager still comes up with the most amazing quips. She recently informed me I could not hold her hand in public because it was "humiliating." Whether your teenager's IQ is 46 like my teenager or 146 I think it's safe to say they are pretty much all the same. <strike>Obnoxious</strike> Opinionated.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfGlhzyfDgOZVqP4Dq31iH-F936r_oNVJrv8ShXS6Eh79koOdSl2LGS-CTIfD83f16YoLoGSEhoW7oLsvrgi0aMBBllCag2Gxld6bRY9AH9yM91ldjz0u46MkdHCnemHbRMkhRTgdyaA1/s1600/Thomas+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfGlhzyfDgOZVqP4Dq31iH-F936r_oNVJrv8ShXS6Eh79koOdSl2LGS-CTIfD83f16YoLoGSEhoW7oLsvrgi0aMBBllCag2Gxld6bRY9AH9yM91ldjz0u46MkdHCnemHbRMkhRTgdyaA1/s320/Thomas+collage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The Boy continues to be an inspiration to others. The above collage was posted by a friend in Orlando along with the following paragraph:<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent"> <i>"Hero". When I saw the subject 'hero', I
thought of many people...the first one who came to my mind today was <span style="font-size: small;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The Boy</span></span>. The Boy is the son of my friend. He is all boy, loves bugs, snakes and monster trucks...he is a </i></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<i>big
brother and a little brother ~ the only boy in a family of women! He
is a helper to his friends at school and they all love him : ) The Boy's
life is about courage, he has Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI). Also known
as the "brittle bone disease". I have lost count of the times he has
had a fracture, or a surgery, or a treatment to help strengthen his
bones. He is an amazing boy! He is a hero!"</i></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dts3ez7QIUk/UFR_kEjITtI/AAAAAAAACrE/m0N0SgRUMvw/s1600/Thomas+and+his+chicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dts3ez7QIUk/UFR_kEjITtI/AAAAAAAACrE/m0N0SgRUMvw/s320/Thomas+and+his+chicks.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
The "chicken whisperer" with his flock<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent"> YES! Chickens! </span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">I have finally fulfilled my life long desire of being a chicken owner. We are the proud owners of four Delawares named Beulah, Lula, Bobbie Joe and June. We expect lots of eggs and lots of poo for the garden. So far all we have is lots of poo for the garden.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JOVaIJrRrTE/UFSE0arejHI/AAAAAAAACrY/5Gt6ZyFDm-s/s1600/Mealworms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JOVaIJrRrTE/UFSE0arejHI/AAAAAAAACrY/5Gt6ZyFDm-s/s320/Mealworms.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="userContent"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Photo from Google Images</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">The Boy and I have begun a meal worm farm for the flock. Thousands of wriggling alien-like larvae on a bed of oatmeal.</span><br />
<br />
Truly<span class="userContent"> the stuff nightmares are made of.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent">It's good to be back.</span>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-69151854626041805152012-04-21T17:52:00.001-07:002012-04-21T18:00:43.313-07:00Things I Love On A Rainy Saturday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Bougainvillea against a wet, wooden fence.</span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQvl7gnTrcvCNuDUvQgU3o5rq5GWGp5UvSfJsvv_6F6L91hLNIgHr16pZgM6UQcr2n3zVyMEKnqrDbtrv07XyD1FfimmCxj6fS5BilMnDLCpUDhJPVPVGye28JRYSbUUeJ3bqEknLZVXW/s1600/bouganvillia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQvl7gnTrcvCNuDUvQgU3o5rq5GWGp5UvSfJsvv_6F6L91hLNIgHr16pZgM6UQcr2n3zVyMEKnqrDbtrv07XyD1FfimmCxj6fS5BilMnDLCpUDhJPVPVGye28JRYSbUUeJ3bqEknLZVXW/s320/bouganvillia.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Memories of Haiti </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Our very first potato</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fTGpZ99qCEA/T5NPWDIM9AI/AAAAAAAACpg/n2QibahUkSI/s1600/first+potatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fTGpZ99qCEA/T5NPWDIM9AI/AAAAAAAACpg/n2QibahUkSI/s320/first+potatoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> A meal fit for a mouse</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Brick paths and weird tropical plants from my father</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mn3z3DXVSoU/T5NPZhzKGNI/AAAAAAAACpo/MsTjrPlkQmA/s1600/fla+plants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mn3z3DXVSoU/T5NPZhzKGNI/AAAAAAAACpo/MsTjrPlkQmA/s320/fla+plants.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">93 years old on February 21st</span> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Our resident black racer who thinks she's Nessie</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qcw2SI7_2_g/T5NPcXA2LzI/AAAAAAAACpw/WWPpvatq6KQ/s1600/nessie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qcw2SI7_2_g/T5NPcXA2LzI/AAAAAAAACpw/WWPpvatq6KQ/s320/nessie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Navigating the Loch</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Orchids in the back yard that grow themselves</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNILUP4i_DgMjp1xHaiMRbf8jGhwCy55XN4ZpTx6Dtwy1Rrl36kfJ-b5A5Kz17rsbRv8WWrx5znM1cavrfXRlqL5vsTn6cP3umxrJkL5o5ARsLxviQ6xBs2GUGXOKFamd6iHgmSrbk4TNh/s1600/orchids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNILUP4i_DgMjp1xHaiMRbf8jGhwCy55XN4ZpTx6Dtwy1Rrl36kfJ-b5A5Kz17rsbRv8WWrx5znM1cavrfXRlqL5vsTn6cP3umxrJkL5o5ARsLxviQ6xBs2GUGXOKFamd6iHgmSrbk4TNh/s320/orchids.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Where did you come from and why do you stay?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Vines that marry</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ed-Rburr2CI/T5NPpzoAHTI/AAAAAAAACqQ/pSF0lgGh9oA/s1600/vines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ed-Rburr2CI/T5NPpzoAHTI/AAAAAAAACqQ/pSF0lgGh9oA/s320/vines.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I now pronounce you Black-eyed Susan and Jasmine</span> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> That the children have to walk under the vines to swing </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d1Dm3WQ-FFE/T5NPQidco5I/AAAAAAAACpQ/7xFk9gQyW8E/s1600/arbor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d1Dm3WQ-FFE/T5NPQidco5I/AAAAAAAACpQ/7xFk9gQyW8E/s320/arbor.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Surrounded by fragrance </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That Orange and Purple really do go together </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ky6OO1rFv8s/T5NPgJhjLAI/AAAAAAAACp4/tgx7tBx9VC0/s1600/orange.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ky6OO1rFv8s/T5NPgJhjLAI/AAAAAAAACp4/tgx7tBx9VC0/s320/orange.jpg" width="320" /></span></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">In the garden, of course </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-77545756346710200782012-04-17T05:25:00.009-07:002012-04-17T09:44:29.331-07:00Delaware, I Salute You!<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BjtC6Ojl2_Y/T41yQ583BmI/AAAAAAAACoA/K_JF4MbtGzc/s1600/delaware_state_bird_and_flower.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 383px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BjtC6Ojl2_Y/T41yQ583BmI/AAAAAAAACoA/K_JF4MbtGzc/s400/delaware_state_bird_and_flower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732363535472068194" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Delaware state bird.<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">Up all night with The Baby who moaned, groaned, and yelled for me. This is the nightly norm for The Baby but in my sleep deprived delirium it seemed a <span style="font-style: italic;">tad</span> more excessive.<br /><br />This morning she has a temperature of 101.<br /><br />"I sick. Are you sick?" she moans.<br /><br />I can't figure out if I am also sick which seems to be a genetic trait from the paternal side of my family. Generally when my temperature reaches 103 after days of a "headache" I decide to use a thermometer and then am amazed at how sick I am, how long I have actually been sick and how I had no clue regarding this fact.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Not being in touch with one's own health issues is also characteristic of "extreme caretakers." You know who you are and many of you are reading this blog.<br /><br />Come to think of it following an "extreme caretaker" around for 24 hours might be a good premise for a new reality tv show. Besides I'm bored with watching re-runs of Hoarders on Netflix. I could use a dose of wallowing in the misery of someone I actually have something in common with.<br /><br />So I'm exhausted this morning and stagger after my cup(s) of java when The Boy hollers for me. I figure he has to wee wee.<br /><br />"Mom! What did you do with the snake?"<br /><br />The snake? What snake?<br /><br />"Why did it have polka dots on it?"<br /><br />Fever dream?<br /><br />When I get The Boy up for school he cannot decide if he feels well enough to go to school or not even though it turns out that he <span style="font-style: italic;">does not</span> have a temp.<br /><br />Can't decide if he's sick. Uh. Oh. Sounds like it might be genetic and environmental.<br /><br />I pack his lunch, and back pack and in doing so I find that he has a big art project due today. The letter from his fabulous art teacher informs me that The Boy has chosen the states of Texas and Delaware and that I was supposed to research these two states online last night with him and send in many, many facts and photos corresponding to those chosen states.<br /><br />I can also use "weird " facts for example the "fainting goats in Montana."<br /><br /></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8wUFguHypdY/T41wg1Hop7I/AAAAAAAACn0/HUSQjtsjTCA/s1600/Fainting%2BGoat.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8wUFguHypdY/T41wg1Hop7I/AAAAAAAACn0/HUSQjtsjTCA/s400/Fainting%2BGoat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732361610029737906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Fainting goats? I seem to have missed this somewhere in the past 60 years of life experiences. The only thing I know about Montana is that for every one woman there are 12 men. I considered moving there when I was young and had hormones. Now I'm old, have no hormones and hate the cold so Montana no longer entices me.<br /><br />And Delaware? Where is Delaware actually? Does any one live there? I have never met a soul from Delaware and in Florida we have tourists from all over the United States so I have to wonder does Delaware really exist? And more importantly did The Boy choose Delaware because it rhymes with under wear?<br /><br />In researching Delaware for 20 seconds this morning I discover that not only does Delaware exist it actually has a <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">chicken </span>for it's state bird! Any state who has a chicken for it's state bird and whose residents <span style="font-style: italic;">do not spend winters in </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Florida </span><span style="font-style: italic;">annoying Floridians</span> is worthy of praise!<br /><br />Kudos, Delaware! I stand and salute you!<br /><br />The Boy has been to Texas, however, so i ask him what he remembers about our vacation to Dallas.<br /><br />"The cashews."<br /><br />The train ride to Ft. Worth? The longhorn steer run in downtown Ft. Worth? The Dallas children's science museum? The book depository museum and grassy knoll where JFK was assassinated? The Los Lonely Boys concert in downtown Dallas? The vintage train museum?<br /><br />Gone.<br /><br />"The cashews."<br /><br />I remind him of the strong Mexican culture we also encountered when purchasing those cashews at a local farmers market and asked if he encountered a strong Mexican culture in Dallas what country does he think borders Texas?<br /><br />'Tokyo?"<br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tJCFV8W6x0U/T412BMEF8jI/AAAAAAAACoM/ZX2NXJi3os8/s1600/263-chau-giang-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 232px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tJCFV8W6x0U/T412BMEF8jI/AAAAAAAACoM/ZX2NXJi3os8/s400/263-chau-giang-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732367663502848562" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Sick or not sick I predict it's going to be a <span style="font-style: italic;">long </span>day and an even longer art project.<br /></span><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-63826457768735344682012-04-11T15:06:00.016-07:002012-04-12T15:29:36.923-07:00Cup of Java With That Urine?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufZsF2COk6oXv7-AnGUE-wErCBy5N1zZ3wd4rAB7xpllTEvS_Mh0fzJqOlhA12o_jqhdYfQCPPdHvZTlgXFrnFbMQv6QSLLLMIIOO-ti2IoM6ObK0gBhyphenhyphensFl7-HjYTXW9Gi0XY98JyY3v/s1600/Steven_Talbott-Old_Women_in_the_Shoe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufZsF2COk6oXv7-AnGUE-wErCBy5N1zZ3wd4rAB7xpllTEvS_Mh0fzJqOlhA12o_jqhdYfQCPPdHvZTlgXFrnFbMQv6QSLLLMIIOO-ti2IoM6ObK0gBhyphenhyphensFl7-HjYTXW9Gi0XY98JyY3v/s400/Steven_Talbott-Old_Women_in_the_Shoe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730286935604315682" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">So I recently got my income tax return.<br /><br />"How did you get such a b-i-g return?" the bank teller asked in a <span style="font-style: italic;">way too loud voice.</span><br /><br />'I am poor. I have lots of children." I replied.<br /><br />"Wow!" she responds. "And how much would you like to put in your savings after you pay off your Visa?"<br /><br />The Visa containing the surgery costs? Yes. I pay $457.00 a month for Blue Cross Blue Shield and Blue Cross Blue Shield didn't pay one penny of my November orthopedic surgery.<br /><br />The Visa containing the van costs? Yes. Remember when it was towed away? Posting bond for Charlie Manson would've been cheaper.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-58wfg8zdUAI/T4YZ8xta2EI/AAAAAAAACnc/kqlznk6m9ic/s1600/CharlesManson2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 385px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-58wfg8zdUAI/T4YZ8xta2EI/AAAAAAAACnc/kqlznk6m9ic/s400/CharlesManson2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730296107802220610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Visa containing living expenses because the recovery from surgery in November was far more painful than I anticipated? Morphine every six hours! Who knew Morphine and Sweet Tarts were basically the same composition? My Friend Big Daddy Dr. Weed had the same surgery at the same place one hour after mine and ended up getting staph in his wound followed by MRSA and is only recently able to walk without agonizing pain.<br /><br />Maintaining a full work schedule during all of this? You must be kidding? We supplemented my lack of income with my Visa and measly savings.<br /><br />And then there was the Teenager's hospitalizations in December, January and March. Oh, and lets not forget The Boy's hip fracture two days after the Teenagers March surgery.<br /><br />"So your Visa is paid off. How much of your income tax return would you like to put in savings, now? Your current savings balance it $9.00." The bank teller announces <span style="font-style: italic;">to everyone in the lobby.<br /><br /></span>Was she jealous or something? She can certainly have my children if she wants a better income tax return.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5M1WxoOPMLE/T4YLehhP96I/AAAAAAAACmg/0cFRIxJB260/s1600/original.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 316px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5M1WxoOPMLE/T4YLehhP96I/AAAAAAAACmg/0cFRIxJB260/s400/original.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730280194897344418" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Fool!</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">We are basically shut-ins due to the hip fracture. My primary contact with the outside world is work. Who knew work could be so exciting? When Iris arrives I run screaming down the drive way. Free at last.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />I sit here day after day after day after returning from work and listen to things like...<br /><br />" I sure am glad I'm not a tree." From The Boy.<br /><br />"Why?" I lamely inquire.<br /><br />"Because it would be sooooo boring just standing there all day."<br /><br />Who thinks this way?<br /><br />I haven't slept since March 22nd.<br /><br />"Mom! I am having jaw pain!"<br /><br />"Mom! I have to pee."<br /><br />"Mom! I have to poop."<br /><br />"Mom! I need pain medicine!'<br /><br />"Mom! My foot itches!"<br /><br />"Mom! My splint is too tight."<br /><br />"Mom! I need a drink of water." At 2 am?<br /><br />"Mom! I'm having a muscle spasm."<br /><br />"Mom! I got a potato stick stuck in my wisdom tooth hole."<br /><br />And if that's not bad enough The Baby has developed the annoying habit of calling me by my first name if I don't answer to <span style="font-style: italic;">"mom."<br /><br />Alright. Which one of you brats told her my first name?</span><br /><br />And speaking of The Baby she is up half the night with her horrendous sleep disorder and the other half just because. Just because everyone else in the family is up.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">I stagger out of bed at 6:00 am to get The Baby on the bus before work and find lemonade on the stove in a large plastic cup. I ponder it while making coffee. I don't recall lemon-aid in our house...<br /><br />Capri Sun.<br /><br />OJ.<br /><br />Water...<br /><br />Dear God it suddenly hits me.<br /><br />"BOY! Did you put urine on the stove in a plastic cup?"<br /><br />He can finally sit in his wheel chair this week without pain but the chair won't fit in to our bathroom door so he pees in any available receptacle when I am not looking.<br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoohmg3pMxFdWmsSHSVgwslVHbMJQnraD_RH8gAGDm_LWvKT-ebOfBxWB2hhiGvIKocI4GWsmUs0IqkjUax2jI9GUEcPF5yr1wDi8CCxTaiAk27uadDJ4f9wQqiaV2oSTU0qw_tqAzMPLd/s1600/urine-sample.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 398px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoohmg3pMxFdWmsSHSVgwslVHbMJQnraD_RH8gAGDm_LWvKT-ebOfBxWB2hhiGvIKocI4GWsmUs0IqkjUax2jI9GUEcPF5yr1wDi8CCxTaiAk27uadDJ4f9wQqiaV2oSTU0qw_tqAzMPLd/s400/urine-sample.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730288856530251538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">He knew I was perturbed by the urine on the stove so the following day it was placed on The Baby's highchair tray. Ah! Much better.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />I wander in to the garden this week to sip my coffee seeking home-grown "respite." After I thoroughly wash my coffee cup first just in case The Boy decided to take a leak in that too.<br /><br />I notice a little black speck on the rim of the cup and remove it. Coffee grind I presume. Until I swallow a soft, fat blob of something which I spit back in to my empty coffee cup. The blob has legs.<br /><br />Garden beetle? I look closer. <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh my God no</span>! Cockroach? I can't even go there.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TgSYH_bY1ic/T4YcPYe2mxI/AAAAAAAACno/LyefY98M8sE/s1600/cockroach.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 290px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TgSYH_bY1ic/T4YcPYe2mxI/AAAAAAAACno/LyefY98M8sE/s400/cockroach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730298626471009042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">I prefer my coffee black like my anal cercus<br /><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Apparently that coffee ground was a bug turd.<br /><br />"Ack! Ack! I think I just drank a cockroach! I'm going to die!" I'm shrieking now. It's difficult to vomit when you are shrieking which is a good thing.<br /><br />"Protein." The Boy suggests. "I eat ants you know. They taste like Hershey's chocolate."<br /><br />I consider switching to Godiva while I run to the internet to see how long I have to live.<br /><br />I find this:<br /><br /><a href="http://bodyodd.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/04/02/10984978-chocolate-allergies-linked-to-cockroach-parts">Chocolate Allergies Linked To Cockroach Parts</a> at The Body Odd site.<br /><br />No words.</span>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-28683697862990955392012-03-23T05:56:00.020-07:002012-03-23T18:23:38.821-07:00Femur Fracture and The Dyslexic Paramedics<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-91AontAg9js/T2z_8QExnmI/AAAAAAAAClM/-vIQdoEJNpc/s1600/images-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 199px; height: 253px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-91AontAg9js/T2z_8QExnmI/AAAAAAAAClM/-vIQdoEJNpc/s400/images-1.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723230637053288034" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Leonardo da Vinci was dyslexic</span></span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I think I'm tired.<br /><br />On Tuesday when we came home from The Teenagers surgery I was exhausted but up until 1 am trying to get her comfy and situated. And then there is 6 am and work the following day.<br /><br />On Wednesday we were in the car to take The Boy to school when nature called. I ran shrieking back into the house barely making it. Probably stress I told myself.<br /><br />We eventually arrived at The Boy's school late and Ms. Trinidad of the front office looked at me. "This is very unlike you to be this late!"<br /><br />"</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >MOM HAS DIARRHEA</span><span style="font-size:130%;">!" The Boy explains in his loudest voice.<br /><br />Ms Trinidad started to to giggle. And then the howling laughter began from another direction. Mrs-Needs-To-Be-Canonized bursts out of a side office clutching her stomach and laughing. I took a bow and drove to work.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nWQv4r0FsiA/T2zhlwRLQzI/AAAAAAAACko/4i2G5uAyjSU/s1600/einstein.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 397px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nWQv4r0FsiA/T2zhlwRLQzI/AAAAAAAACko/4i2G5uAyjSU/s400/einstein.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723197265209410354" border="0" /></a>Einstein was dyslexic<br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />On Thursday I finished work, came home and lay down with The Teenager, both of us exhausted. My cell phone made some weird noises and when I checked it realized it had not taken a charge during the night. What can you expect from a $14.95 Wal-Mart go phone ? My expensive texting phone which i need for my job took a dump the day before my van died. No. I can't afford a new one. Phone or van.<br /><br />I plugged the ghetto phone in to the living room outlet and it rang twice but every time I looked at it the screen went black. I figured whoever called me would call my home phone if it was important.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yG3PfLOFbM4/T2ziBQsMC5I/AAAAAAAACk0/__X7t3eKqKA/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 173px; height: 292px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yG3PfLOFbM4/T2ziBQsMC5I/AAAAAAAACk0/__X7t3eKqKA/s400/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723197737769110418" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Walt Disney was dyslexic</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Baby's school bus arrived, we unloaded her and piled in to the van to pick up The Boy from school. The Teenager wobbly on Vicodin in her bathrobe and The Baby covered in finger paint. She was green and yellow.<br /><br />When I arrived in the school car circle I noticed 2 fire trucks and one ambulance. And then I noticed a teacher running across the lawn towards me. For a brief second I tried not to look at her hoping she wasn't after me and that she would go away. Go away. Go away.<br /><br />But I knew. Lord . Did I know.<br /><br />"The Boy! The Boy! He fell! Go around the back."<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj442b59H19da799bg4FpIiqnbdDWguboWkIDO4bSFkL-dWNyu5J-ucIf-AGL7cOghIeZrfekMP5lQokurr5WzQxdBT05n4hlRNENhZ3C2d3dITAYdhnpyXP3nVz5KvRDxSO9zUOdzdsRiw/s1600/images11.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 265px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj442b59H19da799bg4FpIiqnbdDWguboWkIDO4bSFkL-dWNyu5J-ucIf-AGL7cOghIeZrfekMP5lQokurr5WzQxdBT05n4hlRNENhZ3C2d3dITAYdhnpyXP3nVz5KvRDxSO9zUOdzdsRiw/s400/images11.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723230003251164162" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sir Isaac Newton</span></span> was dyslexic<br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">I was relieved to see The Boy sitting up on a stretcher surrounded by a crowd from school and a group of firemen and paramedics. The paramedic informed me The Boy had hurt his knee. It did look a little swollen but I've learned to consult the Boy.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Femur or knee?</span><br /><br />'Femur"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Is it broken?</span><br /><br />"Yes. I want to ride in the ambulance."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Where does it hurt?</span><br /><br />"Here." he points. "I want to ride in the ambulance."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is not life or death. You do not require life saving equipment like oxygen. You are riding with me.<br /><br /></span><span>On a scale of 1 to 10 his pain was a 5.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>I plucked him off of the stretcher and put him in the van.<br /><br />I realize later how bizarre our conversation sounded to innocent onlookers. Unless you have a child with OI and in that case it was a perfectly normal conversation.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G2ScOzAmhhI/T20D7M8IvCI/AAAAAAAAClY/MzRUJOfU-Kg/s1600/images2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 221px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G2ScOzAmhhI/T20D7M8IvCI/AAAAAAAAClY/MzRUJOfU-Kg/s400/images2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723235017078389794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Winston Churchill was dyslexic</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I dosed him with Hyydrocodone and Motrin.We arrived at the ER and two burly security guards helped me move The Boy to a wheelchair. The triage nurse took him back immediately. I found out later that many of the dozens of families waiting complained about The Boy being taken back immediately assuming it was because he was white. The triage nurse informed them that The Boy had a femur fracture. Your child has a cold. Buzz off.<br /><br />One of my major pet peeves are people who use the local emergency room as their primary care physician. They drive me insane and the cost of medical care over the edge for the rest of us poor paying slobs.<br /><br />And the white issue? You don't want to go there with me.<br /><br />Word.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dfemONXqZJ4/T20E5SEiHxI/AAAAAAAAClk/VharsFGaOJs/s1600/images2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dfemONXqZJ4/T20E5SEiHxI/AAAAAAAAClk/VharsFGaOJs/s400/images2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723236083607674642" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Architect Jorn Utzon was dyslexic</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Boy did well until we took him for his x-ray and the muscle spasms began. A small segment of kids with OI suffer from debilitating spasms during fracture times and not only are they excruciatingly painful, they are also dangerous. Children fracture on top of fractures from the spasms themselves. Of course The Boy is a member of this small club.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5DJbB8k3J2M/T20JpCcLqhI/AAAAAAAACmI/7vH6DV_f9sA/s1600/lewis_carroll.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 273px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5DJbB8k3J2M/T20JpCcLqhI/AAAAAAAACmI/7vH6DV_f9sA/s400/lewis_carroll.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723241302092130834" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Lewis Carroll was dyslexic</span></span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">The only thing that helps is IV Valium.<br /><br />"We are out of IV Valium," ER Dr. Garcia informed me.<br /><br />WHAT?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-laoBiTXeNrk/T20Genr2aiI/AAAAAAAAClw/LsP1di_GrM4/s1600/Unknown-4.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-laoBiTXeNrk/T20Genr2aiI/AAAAAAAAClw/LsP1di_GrM4/s400/Unknown-4.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723237824576514594" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Steven Spielberg is dyslexic</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The nurse informs me there is also a nationwide shortage of migraine medication, Phenergan, some chemo drugs and some blood pressure pills. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">So they give him Valium by mouth and IV Morphine. As the ER paramedic attempts to start the IV The Boy looks at her and says, "there is no blood return."<br /><br />"I can't believe you just said that to me," she smiles. She turns to me and asks what his IQ is. I assured her it was normal but he is gifted in soooo many other ways.<br /><br />None of which i care to go into at the moment.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_tD1RM3FpNU/T20HilWd31I/AAAAAAAACl8/kEK4vWIgHxc/s1600/usa-330x270-science-stephen-hawking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 330px; height: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_tD1RM3FpNU/T20HilWd31I/AAAAAAAACl8/kEK4vWIgHxc/s400/usa-330x270-science-stephen-hawking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723238992181059410" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Yes, Stephen Hawking also dyslexic</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The femur was cracked but the intramedullary rod <span style="font-style: italic;">on it's last leg </span>(literally)<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>held it together and kept the crack from displacing. As it turns out he did not fall. He was walking towards a classmate and the femur spontaneously broke sending him to the ground.<br /><br />I had them put on a long leg splint in the ER. We "had a choice." Were they kidding? Of course I wanted him immobilized. Wait a minute....could this be where the IV Valium is going? The treatment was a tad Bob Marley-ish no worries mon-ish. Since when do you not splint a cracked femur on an OI kid?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GgyCz0VIvuk/T2ymwXom7CI/AAAAAAAACkQ/csrWmS02MJQ/s1600/leg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GgyCz0VIvuk/T2ymwXom7CI/AAAAAAAACkQ/csrWmS02MJQ/s400/leg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723132576389327906" border="0" /></a><br />Last night was a little rough.</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lKHiSAcD3lg/T2zaryAxlYI/AAAAAAAACkc/wiEe2MeorhE/s1600/feeling%2Brough.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 382px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lKHiSAcD3lg/T2zaryAxlYI/AAAAAAAACkc/wiEe2MeorhE/s400/feeling%2Brough.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723189672175310210" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The Boy is also dyslexic</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And the dyslexic paramedics?<br /><br />I phoned Mrs-Needs-To-Be-Canonized from the ER as I felt terribly sorry for her hoping she had recovered from the fracture fiasco and wondering if the paramedics got there any quicker than they did when Attila had the seizure at the Valentines dance and Mrs-Needs-To-Be-Canonized was chasing them around the block on foot waving her hands in the dark and screaming, "I'm old. I'm fat. I'm going to have a heart attack right here in the street!"<br /><br />No. It did not go well this time either.<br /><br />"One fire truck arrived at the church office. One fire truck at a students house across the street. And one ambulance parked in the school parking lot."<br /><br />Obviously her call to the dispatcher after the paramedics circled the Valentine dance for 10 minutes going up and down streets didn't do much good. It seems the school is still "off the grid."<br /><br />And then there was the dyslexic paramedic who wrote 25lbs for The Boy's weight instead of 52 lbs and who wrote The Boy's first name down as my last name. And then dropped his clip board of notes on the ground and then couldn't find it until Ms. Zookeeper, The Boy's teacher, handed it to him and when she did it was apparently love at first sight for the paramedic. He couldn't take his eyes off of Ms. Zookeeper after that. Apparently none of the paramedics could take their eyes off of Ms. Zookeeper.<br /><br />Yes. I know. I know. She is "hot" (per The Boy) but focus boys, focus!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">This afternoon I'm still in the clothes that i went to work in yesterday morning and slept in last night. The Baby needs a bath and The Teenager is complaining because she is still in her nightgown.<br /><br />"I'm still in my PE uniform and my tighty whities and I need a bath. " The Boy states trying to cheer The Teenager who is still experiencing post surgical pain.<br /><br />"But at least my under wear aren't yellow."<br /><br />Ah, yes. Gifted.<br /><br />In sooo many ways.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-63121781425039138312012-03-20T05:09:00.021-07:002012-03-21T04:03:24.155-07:00Happy Anniversary Mr. Snuggles<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pt1cQlAlj2M/T2h5D8z8ssI/AAAAAAAACi8/gycZLcTTiiA/s1600/retro%2Bchair.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 349px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pt1cQlAlj2M/T2h5D8z8ssI/AAAAAAAACi8/gycZLcTTiiA/s400/retro%2Bchair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721956435344798402" border="0" /></a>Mr. Snuggles in his favorite pink retro chair<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">Last night as I was packing for round two of The Teenagers dental surgery I remembered to pack Mr. Snuggles, the Teenagers favorite toy in the entire world. Mr Snuggles was accidentally left at home during her last hospitalization. Bad move. Very bad.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Mr. Snuggles has been with our family for about 8 years. The Teenager won him at a church Easter Egg hunt and crowned him Mr Snuggles on the spot. The Teenager names all of her babies the second she acquires them and never and I mean NEVER forgets their names from that moment forward. This has always amazed me. The same memory that thinks Martin Luther King, Jr. is, <span style="font-style: italic;">"I dunno the son of God?"</span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"> can recall all of those names?</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />Of course when I went to pack Mr. Snuggles I was semi-horrified regarding the state of his current personal hygiene so i </span><strike><span style="font-size:130%;">tossed</span></strike> <span style="font-size:130%;">gently placed him in the washer on the delicate cycle last night. When I woke up at 6 am I ran to the washer with the intent to plop Mr. Snuggles in the dryer for a quickie fluff.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TTsXEj9UEFc/T2h8-B1QcnI/AAAAAAAACjg/botNybettTM/s1600/extreme%2Bclose%2Bup.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TTsXEj9UEFc/T2h8-B1QcnI/AAAAAAAACjg/botNybettTM/s400/extreme%2Bclose%2Bup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721960731659760242" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mr. Snuggles looking rough</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">Gone!<br /><br />Did I hang him out on the clothes line last night? But more importantly how could I have forgotten hanging Mr. Snuggles out on the clothes line last night? I put my shoes on and traipsed out to the clothes line on the side of the house in the pitch dark praying i didn't sink in any Vanna White surprises along the way.<br /><br />The clothesline was empty. I know I'm forgetful but how can one lose an effeminate rabbit so easily?</span><table style="width: 198px; height: 34px;"><tbody><tr><td rowspan="2" style="width: 15px"><br /></td><td rowspan="2"><br /></td><td style="white-space:nowrap" width="1%"><br /></td><td style="white-space: nowrap" width="1%"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size:130%;">And then a thought occurred to me.<br /><br />Upstairs in The Teenagers bedroom I found The Teenager and Mr. Snuggles sleeping peacefully. That is until I removed Mr. Snuggles from The Teenagers damp, right arm pit.<br /><br />"Hey! Hey! Where are you taking Mr. Snuggles?"</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VufGz3Isos4/T2h702adg3I/AAAAAAAACjU/uHHtV_J9QY0/s1600/coy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VufGz3Isos4/T2h702adg3I/AAAAAAAACjU/uHHtV_J9QY0/s400/coy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721959474464129906" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Mr. Snuggles looking coy</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We arrived at the hospital this morning with Mr. Snuggles in tow and ran smack dab into Miss Violet. We've known Miss Violet, a hospital employee, for over 12 years and it seems like every time we <span style="font-style: italic;">show up</span> Miss Violet <span style="font-style: italic;">pops up</span>. It's absolutely uncanny. Twelve years worth of uncanny. A while back i started to suspect that Miss Violet is really a black guardian angel with a very nice weave.<br /><br />Miss Violet has always had a soft spot for The Teenager and always stops me to ask, "How's my girl?"<br /><br />Today Miss Violet popped up in the outpatient building lobby as we were heading towards the walkway to the main hospital. When I told her why we were there and gave her a 10 second synopsis regarding the previous wisdom tooth fiasco Violet raised her right hand high in the air and shouted, <span style="font-weight: bold;">"LORD JESUS, BLESS THIS CHILD <span style="font-style: italic;">TODAY</span>!"</span> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Startled me half to death along with everyone else in the crowded waiting room.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Call me silly, however, but after hugging Miss Violet goodbye and heading to admissions I had the peaceful sensation that this surgery was going to be different from the last surgery. I also decided if it actually <span style="font-style: italic;"> was</span> different I was going to find Miss Violet before <span style="font-style: italic;">every</span> surgical procedure involving<span style="font-style: italic;"> every</span> one of my children and have her pray for them in her succinct, shockingly loud manner.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7jPjfttDhyOEu-k31w2voRx0SIEl7QHTEhctUtpl-Kuudabr3kHuGHDD6Ct1r66IP7t7xoyQqZmFLp5PhsuoZ3e9pAfR8WvHI8cWkZMt273peMYe8-6kYIUuAG9_fkFRiggPgGLeeLqL/s1600/waiting+room.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7jPjfttDhyOEu-k31w2voRx0SIEl7QHTEhctUtpl-Kuudabr3kHuGHDD6Ct1r66IP7t7xoyQqZmFLp5PhsuoZ3e9pAfR8WvHI8cWkZMt273peMYe8-6kYIUuAG9_fkFRiggPgGLeeLqL/s400/waiting+room.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722134326463093346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Mr. Snuggles tries to hold it together in the surgical waiting area<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />After admissions and a pregnancy test we were escorted to the surgical waiting area where we sat for two hours. Yes. I said pregnancy test. As a nurse I agree. As a mother I'm thinking <span style="font-style: italic;">ludicrous.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s6SPeYXmGXw/T2keSpEDTMI/AAAAAAAACj4/fSwq6ZII4JI/s1600/surgical%2Bholding.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 288px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s6SPeYXmGXw/T2keSpEDTMI/AAAAAAAACj4/fSwq6ZII4JI/s400/surgical%2Bholding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722138107160251586" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Surgical holding area. Is it over yet?</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">From the surgical waiting area we were escorted to the surgical holding area where we waited for one hour.<br /><br />Eventually, The Teenager and Mr. Snuggles were taken to surgery. The Teenager for her remaining two wisdom teeth to be extracted and Mr. Snuggles to have his teeth cleaned. Or so the nurse informed Mr. Snuggles who did not look terribly pleased with the idea.<br /><br />The nurse anesthetist could not get over "how beautiful" The Teenager was and commented to this effect three times as we walked back to the operating room.<br /><br />I have to admit The Teenager totally rocks a hospital gown and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">And it's hard to miss those gorgeous choppers which <span style="font-style: italic;">everyone</span> is impressed with.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z2ugA-n2c4I/T2kk73_XnQI/AAAAAAAACkE/evwmpDbD_eU/s1600/hospital%2Bgown.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 357px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z2ugA-n2c4I/T2kk73_XnQI/AAAAAAAACkE/evwmpDbD_eU/s400/hospital%2Bgown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722145412611546370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">America's Next Top Hospital Gown Model<br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">At the moment we are home. The Teenager has finished her pureed, Chick-fil-A kids meal and chocolate milkshake and is singing in the bathtub. Pureed chicken nuggets is a first for me but a necessity because unlike January's mess this time The Teenager is h-u-n-g-r-y and feelin' fine.<br /><br />The dental procedure this time was the yin to the January yang.<br /><br />In other words, it went beautifully thanks to Dr. Brady who, turns out, <a href="http://milkweedmama7.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-told-my-dentist-my-teeth-were-turning.html">was neither Jan nor Marsha. </a>And thanks to Miss Violet who obviously has a direct line to Lord Jesus. And last but not least, a special thanks to Mr. Snuggles for being a loyal companion to The Teenager bringing comfort during difficult days like today for 8 long years.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7w3GylhgqxY/T2h6ONoLw_I/AAAAAAAACjI/SB1F5dhN0nk/s1600/closeup.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7w3GylhgqxY/T2h6ONoLw_I/AAAAAAAACjI/SB1F5dhN0nk/s400/closeup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721957711169176562" border="0" /></a></div><span style="font-size:130%;">Happy Anniversary Mr. Snuggles. Here's hoping you'll hang around with us for another eight Easters.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-50921072373374884542012-03-03T05:58:00.014-08:002012-04-12T08:48:52.030-07:00What Up?<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y6lOXMU_by4/T2S1WlqzJ4I/AAAAAAAAChc/Dzs1RsUzrwg/s1600/roller.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 346px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y6lOXMU_by4/T2S1WlqzJ4I/AAAAAAAAChc/Dzs1RsUzrwg/s400/roller.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720896826340747138" border="0" /></a>Roller<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Thank you to all who have inquired if I am alive. I am. To say I have not been inspired since my last post is putting it mildly. Thus, my absence.<br /><br />In the meantime things around the homestead are about typical.<br /><br />Tomatoes have made it through the entire winter and are now bountiful. I have big plans for canning salsa but since I have been too tired I've been freezing the ingredients for a later date. My friends tell me my fatigue is "time change" induced. I can't<span style="font-style: italic;"> ever</span> remember a "time change" kicking my butt like this before, though.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FglUOglb_Ew/T2S5XiK1z0I/AAAAAAAACho/0kD4QhB7DEI/s1600/maters.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FglUOglb_Ew/T2S5XiK1z0I/AAAAAAAACho/0kD4QhB7DEI/s400/maters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720901240627777346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Iris's that my neighbor gave me are exploding. I love flowers but I especially love flowers given to me by another gardener. Remembrance is as beautiful as the blossom.<br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUqGxU1Txr6L6hFIgukKuAi8xTvPmnU1w4PbN4R6zaMm1mbZo-4dTQikcODo4CoB46_j4U4pHaDjukw9_ofiVofwQutoxQt0tAz3ttQNcmGrl3FM45MrFb-wk2V7tXqxK7UtQokxBzfVZO/s1600/iris.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUqGxU1Txr6L6hFIgukKuAi8xTvPmnU1w4PbN4R6zaMm1mbZo-4dTQikcODo4CoB46_j4U4pHaDjukw9_ofiVofwQutoxQt0tAz3ttQNcmGrl3FM45MrFb-wk2V7tXqxK7UtQokxBzfVZO/s400/iris.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720906246556339762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The family van took a major dump.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> I was able to bail it out of mechanics jail after posting $1763.00 bond</span>. <span style="font-size:130%;">Unlike county lock up mechanics do take charge cards. How do I know this? Don't ask.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14X2BkPqz0M/T2S_fAUywsI/AAAAAAAACiA/wWXh4QkZXGo/s1600/car.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14X2BkPqz0M/T2S_fAUywsI/AAAAAAAACiA/wWXh4QkZXGo/s400/car.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720907966051435202" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Teenager will be admitted next Tuesday to the local children's hospital to have her remaining two wisdom teeth extracted. <a href="http://milkweedmama7.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-told-my-dentist-my-teeth-were-turning.html">Please pray.</a></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpJlBUT3y9zyuEL7Q2uOVMZlCnCsb72P8yJwRbZQGpWkRJp2sazPFwt9nhWw_2pgW0YrYxP6ztHKNVSEZGSsNiqIT_b5U-xRRvQ6he3a1JW-z8rdeDDbhD3w1xzcSJ6v9xpwGsrfzO15u/s1600/smile.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 358px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpJlBUT3y9zyuEL7Q2uOVMZlCnCsb72P8yJwRbZQGpWkRJp2sazPFwt9nhWw_2pgW0YrYxP6ztHKNVSEZGSsNiqIT_b5U-xRRvQ6he3a1JW-z8rdeDDbhD3w1xzcSJ6v9xpwGsrfzO15u/s400/smile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720910096524386290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Boy and I are shooting hoops in the evening lately and having a great time. I played basketball in middle school and loved it and B-ball with The Boy is a great aerobic work out. I don't recall concern over breaking a hip in middle school though or a play by play announcer yelling, "<span style="font-style: italic;">and the old lady scores</span>!" but the rest of the game hasn't changed much.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dLxH0LmBoxYExajdIozUfjQyzQrYivAQ6duGjQ8i-OQmF349j8J3D2ijIeaNSW7oADry9c4q2HZaL8JuoFCX2mwaCccbSFzcILAI3aW8xMkJhqra3lXjOAp0kEmCLV5D29-aNQJ2vRlI/s1600/DSC00883.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dLxH0LmBoxYExajdIozUfjQyzQrYivAQ6duGjQ8i-OQmF349j8J3D2ijIeaNSW7oADry9c4q2HZaL8JuoFCX2mwaCccbSFzcILAI3aW8xMkJhqra3lXjOAp0kEmCLV5D29-aNQJ2vRlI/s400/DSC00883.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720920136327105074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />We are knee deep in IEP doo-dee with The Baby who will be entering Kindergarten in the fall. I have met with the school psychologist, school physical therapist, school occupational therapist, school speech therapist, school teacher, school social worker and probably the school janitor regarding, "next years placement." Why? Because the school she has attended for the past two years cannot accommodate her handicap. Yes. You heard me. They are looking for an "appropriate" classroom setting for her.<br /><br />Wait! What happened to accommodations in all classroom settings? What happened to the hard and fast ruling our county just handed down that <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">all </span>children must now go to their "zoned school" <span style="font-style: italic;">no matter what</span>.<br /><br />All children except handicapped children that is.<br /><br />It is a continuous source of amusement to sit in these meetings. <br /><br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ODuadeThBTg/T2TK7QKYBfI/AAAAAAAACiw/xoWz3LNHBGc/s1600/baby.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 346px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ODuadeThBTg/T2TK7QKYBfI/AAAAAAAACiw/xoWz3LNHBGc/s400/baby.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720920545966949874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Until next time...</span><br /><br /></div></div>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-58347606868413128182012-02-25T15:18:00.004-08:002012-02-26T05:37:54.830-08:00Support Your Local Farmers!<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xfhE5qsA49w/T0lsXGJaJnI/AAAAAAAAChQ/mVqLbrMRqJw/s1600/picking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xfhE5qsA49w/T0lsXGJaJnI/AAAAAAAAChQ/mVqLbrMRqJw/s400/picking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713216746339051122" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"One must ask children how cherries and strawberries taste." </span>Johann Wolfgang von Goeth </span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />Today we picked strawberries at <a href="http://ffhydro.com/first-fruits/about-us">First Fruits Hydroponics</a>.<br /><br />Strawberry picking is so much fun.<br /><br />Cleaning berries not so much.<br /><br />Onward to Strawberry Margarita jam making this week.<br /><br />Produce always tastes better when it comes from local farmers!</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-18736685579812458132012-02-17T11:29:00.000-08:002012-02-17T14:53:52.330-08:00Pamidronate and Hair Gel<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-liwkWlVsv9k/Tz6vatwgdlI/AAAAAAAAChE/NHcYTIqD8o0/s1600/aveeda.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-liwkWlVsv9k/Tz6vatwgdlI/AAAAAAAAChE/NHcYTIqD8o0/s400/aveeda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710194251046876754" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;">Every four months The Boy goes to the outpatient infusion center at the local children's hospital for his Pamidronate infusion. For those of you who are new to this blog, Pamidronate is a bisphosphonate drug given intravenously for the treatment of Osteogenesis Imperfecta. It is the same family of drug that menopausal woman take to increase bone density for the prevention and/or treatment of osteoporosis.<br /><br />The Boy has Osteogenesis Imperfecta or "brittle bone" disease. OI is not really a "bone disease" but rather a type 1 collagen mutation in the majority of cases that causes disruption of collagen production in bones and other tissues. Depending on the type of OI an individual has they may have numerous other symptoms ranging from short stature to deafness to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilar_invagination">basilar invagination.</a><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Boy biopsies out as type 3 which is one of the more severe forms of OI. When he was born the fracture estimate for type 3 OI was about 50 per year.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">Pamidronate reduced those fracture estimates to less than 2 to 4 per year.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">First begun about 13 years ago at Montreal Shriners, these infusions have the added benefit of also reducing the excruciating bone pain that individuals with OI suffer from on a daily basis and not <span style="font-style: italic;">just</span> when fractured.<br /><br />The Boy was one of the first children in the United States with OI to receive Pamidronate. He began by being infused every other month for 3 days in a row. These infusions lasted approximately 8 hours per day due to his small size and inability to handle too much IV fluid at once. We followed this schedule for YEARS.<br /><br />Twelve years later we are still going for infusions but we now go every 4 months for 2 days and the infusions last approximately 5 hours per day.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">While grateful for treatment it is frequently a challenge working the infusions in between my job and school aged children's varying classroom and bus schedules. Numerous times over the years I have had to bring the entire family to the hospital because I have not been able to find a sitter while The Boy receives his Pamidronate.<br /><br />It's been a long 12 years.<br /><br />This week the monotony of sitting still was broken by <a href="http://www.flashesofhope.org/photos">Flashes of Hope.</a><br /><br />Flashes of Hope is a nonprofit organization that changes the way children with cancer and other life threatening illness see themselves through photography while raising money for pediatric cancer research. Each child is treated to a makeover including hair and makeup and every parent is given gorgeous black and white photographs of their child free of charge.<br /><br />Today <a href="http://www.avedainstitutes.com/">Aveda Institute </a>provided the makeovers.<br /><br />Unfortunately, when I went out to the lobby to see if they were set up yet I was informed that the photographer was ill. I had to laugh. No surprise there. Simply the way the entire week seemed to be going for this family!<br /><br />I was stopped by a nice gentleman from <a href="http://http//avedaflorida.com/">Aveda Institute </a>, however, who informed me that they were still hanging around even if photographs were not being taken to do hair, make up and hand massages.<br /><br />The boy was reluctant stating, " I am not wearing makeup!'<br /><br />I assured him he did not have to wear makeup but it might be kind of nice to get a hand massage and a hair style. I may have also casually mentioned how pretty the cosmetologists were.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nUU7uXbYrng/Tz6tvXsIVxI/AAAAAAAACgg/ifCLLi0xLMU/s1600/aved3.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nUU7uXbYrng/Tz6tvXsIVxI/AAAAAAAACgg/ifCLLi0xLMU/s400/aved3.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710192406876935954" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Enough said.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jKv3PF9-K-0/Tz6uKbAhJHI/AAAAAAAACgs/c36f8KU5F_4/s1600/aveda2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jKv3PF9-K-0/Tz6uKbAhJHI/AAAAAAAACgs/c36f8KU5F_4/s400/aveda2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710192871624221810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />The Boy checked his hair frequently through out the day and asked later if I would buy him some hair gel. He made me smile.<br /><br />I am grateful for organizations such as Aveda Institute who give back to their local community and who go out of their way to provide happiness to those whose lives really benefit from a self-confidence booster shot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Job well done, Aveda. This mom thanks you!</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-56808543591318569972012-02-11T06:57:00.000-08:002012-02-11T08:18:34.844-08:00The Boy To The Rescue<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9CHoj7FpRg/TzZzBmFsZkI/AAAAAAAACgI/IF4ob9djMKs/s1600/067.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 279px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q9CHoj7FpRg/TzZzBmFsZkI/AAAAAAAACgI/IF4ob9djMKs/s400/067.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707876048980174402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Last night was The Boy's annual Valentine Dance. Behaviors at the "dance" are fairly predictable from event to event.<br /><br />The boy's initiate the evening by running wildly through the auditorium <span style="font-style: italic;">chasing other boys.</span> Then the girls run wildly through the auditorium <span style="font-style: italic;">chasing the boys</span>. Then the boys muster the courage to <span style="font-style: italic;">chase the girls.</span> And then the girls pretend they are not enjoying <span style="font-style: italic;">being chased by the boys.</span><br /><br />There are always a few girls and boys who actually dance. The girls twirl in their prettiest party dresses. The Boy's gyrate in their Sunday best.<br /><br />The Teenager, who has recently been invited, eats sweets when she thinks I am not looking.<br /><br />The Baby is generally wheeled around by a nice young man in The Boy's class who has taken her under his wing. This year I put the Baby in the wheel chair stroller which is not as tippy as her one-armed drive wheel chair since we learned at previous events that, like all "young men," the wheeling around frequently involves high speed chases and wheelies.<br /><br />I spend the evening shrieking at The Boy to..."<span style="font-weight: bold;">STOP RUNNING OR YOU WILL SIT THIS ONE OUT!</span>"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Because all I can think of is that blasted intramedullary rod in one of his femurs that is telescoping out of postilion and I don't want to ever see him suffer like he did during the 2008 bent-rod-femur-fracture-2 surgeries-in-2-weeks-significant-blood loss-non-union-bone stimulator-for- one -year- <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">fiasco</span><span>. E</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">ver again.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aMq6GX6uCac/TzaAW_yhKAI/AAAAAAAACgU/rhO440nV1lY/s1600/femur.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 285px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aMq6GX6uCac/TzaAW_yhKAI/AAAAAAAACgU/rhO440nV1lY/s400/femur.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707890710307481602" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Ouch from Google Images<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Our orthopedic appointment is April 9th to schedule the elective surgery to replace the rod.<br /><br />The phrase "elective surgery" in our family is an oxymoron. So I continue to <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">shriek </span>at school dances.<br /><br />One year I actually left him in the care of a number of parents at the dance who assured me they would watch him. When I returned to pick him up he was clad in a white sleeveless undershirt. I asked what happened to his Sunday dress shirt and neck tie and one of the parents replied, "Oh we though that's what he wore to the dance."<br /><br />I've never dropped him off again. Thank God the undershirt wasn't one of those holy, stained rags we keep for "layering" during the winter months.<br /><br />Last night the dance was going as predicted above. The Teenager was somewhere in the kitchen cruising for cupcakes. The Baby was doing wheelies and peeling out with her dance partner. I was stealing Sweet Tart lollipops from unsuspecting children.<br /><br />Dang those things are good!<br /><br />And then the Boy comes running (yes of course) to me yelling...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! MOM COME QUICK! WE NEED YOU! EMERGENCY!"<br /><br /></span><span>Of course I thought it was one of his usual emergencies. You know The faucet is leaking... A snake has a baby bird in it's mouth...so i waved him off. And then I realized I wasn't responsible for the school plumbing and there were no snakes or birds nests in the auditorium.<br /><br />Uh oh...<br /><br />The Boy leads me to the boys bathroom where<a href="http://milkweedmama7.blogspot.com/2011/02/photo-from-google-images-so-today-i.html"> Attilla </a>is out cold flat on his back. His mom is kneeling at his side on her cell phone calling 911. Seems The Boy knew to grab her first. I was so impressed!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Mom! Atilla's mom almost ran faster than me!</span>" </span><span>he was amazed by her sprinting ability.</span><br /><br />I wasn't surprised. I explained to The Boy that mom's displayed super powers like that when their "baby's" were hurt even if their "baby' was built like John Cena.<br /><br />I didn't do much. The nurse in me checked his respiration's while preparing my self mentally to do CPR if necessary and praying it would not be necessary. His pulse was steady. His pupils were equal. There was no blood so I began searching his skull for dents (hate those) or lumps ( a little better). I made mom feel his head where i thought I felt something that shouldn't have been there. Atilla had brain surgery this year so I wasn't sure if the lump should have been there or not. When I moved mom's hand over the suspicious area her eyes grew large.<br /><br />"That's not supposed to be there."<br /><br />I instructed The Boy to go and get ice while we waited for the paramedics. Mom continued to talk to the 911 dispatcher asking what was taking them so long while I assessed and stressed silently. Is he not responding well because he's postictal or is he not responding because he has sustained a significant head injury? I hate the not knowing part. I wished I had a CT scanner in my purse.<br /><br />During all of this The Boy refused to leave Attila and i didn't have the strength to continue arguing with him.<br /><br />Finally Attila began to respond a little. He knew The Boy was there and said his name twice. He reached for moms hand on and off.<br /><br />In retrospect it's always hard to tell what came first. The chicken or the egg on the head? Atilla's episode was reminiscent of The Teenagers first seizure where she fell backwards striking her head on an antique steamer trunk. Did she fall first and then begin to seize? Did she seize first and then fall?<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span>In response to the questions, The Boy graced Mrs Needs-To-Be Canonized and myself with a dramatic recreation of the incident. He staggered around, bounced off a couple of walls, and then crashing his head against the wall, slowly slid to the ground where he lay twitching.<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Ker. Plunk.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Mrs. Needs-To-Be Canonized and I just looked at each other. I thought I saw a faint, circular glow forming around her head.<br /><br />As I'm typing this my phone rang with news that Attila is ok. He probably had a seizure due to the onset of puberty and those stinkin' hormones. His head is fine with no skull fracture or concussion.<br /><br />I hate puberty. But that's a discussion for another time. Right now I am content with the knowledge that Attila is ok and proud to bursting of my boy. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></span></span></span></span><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-9381195682217955572012-02-10T03:29:00.001-08:002012-02-10T08:29:18.088-08:00We Could Discuss This Subject At Length But A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi092lULHWYlWtt3I-lx8C_DOLtxZvOpHy-zp9_cEQU6fhCX73OtZmZAGH5OpV42kPSSoldmj4Mt40hoYXEyRv9xgiUu9wDA7nw_uJcVTCdsBe3FSyvpei1kC908VRrXPC8qD4fw7DGnj-D/s1600/tom.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 343px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi092lULHWYlWtt3I-lx8C_DOLtxZvOpHy-zp9_cEQU6fhCX73OtZmZAGH5OpV42kPSSoldmj4Mt40hoYXEyRv9xgiUu9wDA7nw_uJcVTCdsBe3FSyvpei1kC908VRrXPC8qD4fw7DGnj-D/s400/tom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707537989140855522" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Little Angel</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />During our January visit to the Big City behavioral specialist said doctor decided to wean The Boy off of one of his two medications for hyperactivity. I was a little surprised and pondered out loud why he wanted to mess with success?<br /><br />"I'd rather have him on one medication than 2."<br /><br />Wouldn't we all.<br /><br />I dislike medication of any kind but have learned to recognize over the years that for some children and adults it is just plain necessary whether it be for hypertension or hyperactivity. I also recognize that some people still think love and nurturing are enough when it comes to dealing with behavioral issues while others see every twitch or fart as needing psychiatric medication to deal with said twitches and farts.<br /><br />Both types of people drive me completely insane. There is, after all, a<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">balance</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span><br /><br />A balance that I hope to have achieved during my experiences with multitudes of foster children and my own three who were adopted through the foster care system arriving with extensive illicit drug exposure in utero, no pre-natal care, traumatic birth histories, family pre-dispositions to mental illness and learning disorders......blah...blah...blah.<br /><br />I will admit, however, that I <span style="font-style: italic;">STILL</span> lean towards NOT medicating. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Which is why I let the Big City behavioral specialist talk me in to messing with success.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Immediately I noticed a difference. The normally talkative child could not and would not shut up.<br /><br />"How big is God?"<br /><br />"Does Jesus have brothers and sisters?"<br /><br />"Have you ever eaten ants?"<br /><br />On and on and on. No, not terrible behavior. Annoying. Super annoying. Off the scale on the annoyance meter annoying.<br /><br />And then the outside complaints began to trickle in. When I came home from work on Tuesday evening my sitter, Curly T, greeted me at the door with...and I quote...<br /><br />"What in the hell is with The Boy?"<br /><br />Yesterday, Mrs. Needs-To-Be-Canonized mentioned The Boy's escalating impulsivity during the past two weeks while giving me that all knowing, all wise Mrs. Needs-To-Be-Canonized <span style="font-style: italic;">look</span>.<br /><br />eek!<br /><br />I called the Big City doctors office from the car before we even screeched out of the school parking lot and reported the behaviors to the nurse.<br /><br />After we arrived home The Boy presented me with a note from his teacher, Mrs. Zookeeper, regarding his not being able to stay in his seat and concerns regarding escalating impulsivity.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Please sign note.</span><br /><br />This is the first EVER note home in 3 years.<br /><br />"Is it bad? Is it bad? Is it bad?" he asks while boinging through the house.<br /><br />"No, honey. It's not bad at all."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">OMG. It's bad. It's bad. It's bad..... </span><br /><br />On a brighter note now perhaps they understand more fully what life is like at home as The Boy has historically only been able to "behave in one arena" to quote the Big City behavior specialist and honey home was NOT that arena. At school he is the little "angel."<br /><br />Or rather was the little "angel."<br /><br />I called the behavior specialists office back and told the nurse to add "teacher" to the list of concerned citizens. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We wait for our answer on Monday. It's going to be a long weekend.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">In the meantime I reminisced back to the days before medication when The Boy was unable to sit still. At the age of 8 years all drawings looked like this one:</span><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6a9JnWyKV3A/TzVCj09jt4I/AAAAAAAACfk/-GIvcD2hdNs/s1600/drawing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 194px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6a9JnWyKV3A/TzVCj09jt4I/AAAAAAAACfk/-GIvcD2hdNs/s400/drawing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707541286041663362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />At the age of 8 years after one week on medication all drawings looked like these:</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rek2OhIhjVE/TzVC8odn2eI/AAAAAAAACfw/QhkvOadR0Hg/s1600/drawing2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Rek2OhIhjVE/TzVC8odn2eI/AAAAAAAACfw/QhkvOadR0Hg/s400/drawing2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707541712183220706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />And now...</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vrzqM4TSeOA/TzUqHyVc4zI/AAAAAAAACfA/2XL-Ih1bP0M/s1600/art3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 313px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vrzqM4TSeOA/TzUqHyVc4zI/AAAAAAAACfA/2XL-Ih1bP0M/s400/art3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707514416021168946" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fi_l7NDp950/TzUpjJ02WQI/AAAAAAAACe0/wbgurhxTFE4/s1600/art1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fi_l7NDp950/TzUpjJ02WQI/AAAAAAAACe0/wbgurhxTFE4/s400/art1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707513786671716610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sb3CqMaj3fA/TzUKl0_-Z3I/AAAAAAAACec/qmtcHNgDF7A/s1600/Tom%2527s%2BArt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 303px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sb3CqMaj3fA/TzUKl0_-Z3I/AAAAAAAACec/qmtcHNgDF7A/s400/Tom%2527s%2BArt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707479747760383858" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--c6n1bWuRXk/TzUqRmCt4sI/AAAAAAAACfM/8gzJAXYDL1U/s1600/art2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--c6n1bWuRXk/TzUqRmCt4sI/AAAAAAAACfM/8gzJAXYDL1U/s400/art2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707514584520057538" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Like I said. A picture is worth a thousand words.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-13220439895288222122012-02-09T16:44:00.000-08:002012-02-09T18:14:28.638-08:00February In Florida<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Backyard and beach. Two of my favorite places in Florida.</span><br /></div><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2WqZf6lXA8Q/TzR4hi0nFLI/AAAAAAAACcw/yanNgrptt1Q/s1600/fence.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 338px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2WqZf6lXA8Q/TzR4hi0nFLI/AAAAAAAACcw/yanNgrptt1Q/s400/fence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707319145463747762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8gy8jySVfhU/TzR82z4GKCI/AAAAAAAACdI/kSLHfXQsasM/s1600/pink%2Brose.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8gy8jySVfhU/TzR82z4GKCI/AAAAAAAACdI/kSLHfXQsasM/s400/pink%2Brose.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707323908865533986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xj9If091Tt4/TzRzwvOqL6I/AAAAAAAACcY/bRmG2tvldR4/s1600/orchid2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xj9If091Tt4/TzRzwvOqL6I/AAAAAAAACcY/bRmG2tvldR4/s400/orchid2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707313908934127522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-srI4jfTfy8s/TzRz9cH2yWI/AAAAAAAACck/euk_JlPJQ2Y/s1600/bee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-srI4jfTfy8s/TzRz9cH2yWI/AAAAAAAACck/euk_JlPJQ2Y/s400/bee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707314127143618914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zxixEDPKnhg/TzRyA9RqMVI/AAAAAAAACcA/h6nj8MVZCw4/s1600/rose.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zxixEDPKnhg/TzRyA9RqMVI/AAAAAAAACcA/h6nj8MVZCw4/s400/rose.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707311988559458642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0nsWCZJuKpCMSP729u54SAk23aBjX4zK6JsCsZLAQ43UcNDqYHDaSj06DlTKSDBBWxz9UZxfVEfRz6G7EZYM8x2PFk7ZxjOqytBAyn14SBVbu7SRUm9Z_5GWkwNlc9Mm8mgoW-hFHL1Q/s1600/beach2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0nsWCZJuKpCMSP729u54SAk23aBjX4zK6JsCsZLAQ43UcNDqYHDaSj06DlTKSDBBWxz9UZxfVEfRz6G7EZYM8x2PFk7ZxjOqytBAyn14SBVbu7SRUm9Z_5GWkwNlc9Mm8mgoW-hFHL1Q/s400/beach2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707307437802102322" border="0" /></a><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-3468093496074564742012-02-05T11:52:00.000-08:002012-02-05T17:27:52.971-08:00Yes! It's Monster Jam Time, Again!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Yxn9nt3JnzwIPOneyhpDXqM8Tx0BGKGeHXidHsinPrLuEIsFmBNMnSWcVOwinOudoF0aYNOYKaHHklnfj8MpG9IZNSfxGZrTNq34KFa8xV01zDfgWKH6kdT3UWrZk9y26IeMH0u5rIh6/s1600/092.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Yxn9nt3JnzwIPOneyhpDXqM8Tx0BGKGeHXidHsinPrLuEIsFmBNMnSWcVOwinOudoF0aYNOYKaHHklnfj8MpG9IZNSfxGZrTNq34KFa8xV01zDfgWKH6kdT3UWrZk9y26IeMH0u5rIh6/s400/092.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705742209656493970" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">The Genius may never sit next to me again because I annoyed her with my hyperactivity. But hey, I did have a roll of toilet paper in my purse when the stadium was clean out of it. Who brings toilet paper to these functions? Yer, mama</span>!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">FYI: It is never a good idea to rankle The Genius. Ticket Master was especially nasty and non-accommodating regarding seats for two children in wheel chairs. We ended up with the best seats in 5 years of Monster Jam attendance when The Genius went <span style="font-style: italic;">directly</span> to the stadium supervisor. Yes, we did. </span><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-52YwLZK4siE/Ty7fcDmGLlI/AAAAAAAACYc/YftdsZM9Blc/s1600/071.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-52YwLZK4siE/Ty7fcDmGLlI/AAAAAAAACYc/YftdsZM9Blc/s400/071.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705743451019423314" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">This was The Baby's first year at Monster Jam. She seemed to be especially fond of Gravedigger.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ApcIRF4k77Q/Ty7fD37JTYI/AAAAAAAACYQ/si2mtanWDQM/s1600/141.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ApcIRF4k77Q/Ty7fD37JTYI/AAAAAAAACYQ/si2mtanWDQM/s400/141.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705743035569622402" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And then there is The Teenager who becomes so over stimulated the first 15 minutes we are there we embark on a 6 hour emotional roller coaster ride. One minute she is sobbing because she can't have popcorn with her $8.25 hotdog and the next minute she is doing "the wave." Go figure.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nwhWn7M07UE/Ty8DJ8a6brI/AAAAAAAACaU/cNrXy7cUQ4E/s1600/kira.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nwhWn7M07UE/Ty8DJ8a6brI/AAAAAAAACaU/cNrXy7cUQ4E/s400/kira.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705782722274422450" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-luXdnT1EQ-E/Ty7g0H0qzzI/AAAAAAAACYo/uMS5llnB1dw/s1600/056.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-luXdnT1EQ-E/Ty7g0H0qzzI/AAAAAAAACYo/uMS5llnB1dw/s400/056.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705744963982774066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">I call the above photo <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">two gorgeous grills</span>. She really liked this truck.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The Artist came for the evening from north Florida.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WDzIAtX4gUM/Ty8DeE9t4NI/AAAAAAAACag/zCwkmRuWW9I/s1600/tom%2Band%2Bjen.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WDzIAtX4gUM/Ty8DeE9t4NI/AAAAAAAACag/zCwkmRuWW9I/s400/tom%2Band%2Bjen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705783068165267666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />She takes her Monster Jam's seriously.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-381i213K6c0/Ty7iPGUg_VI/AAAAAAAACY0/M4aexuoRAR8/s1600/jennie%2Band%2Bthomas.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-381i213K6c0/Ty7iPGUg_VI/AAAAAAAACY0/M4aexuoRAR8/s400/jennie%2Band%2Bthomas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705746526947573074" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And then there are the boy's...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DrB91NTJIU0/Ty8sH_aJusI/AAAAAAAACas/v9oQOTg3Tv8/s1600/mj.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DrB91NTJIU0/Ty8sH_aJusI/AAAAAAAACas/v9oQOTg3Tv8/s400/mj.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705827768693537474" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Boys love trucks.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l2y6qkNptn0/Ty7iyQQcgPI/AAAAAAAACZA/wJA-mOJ54PQ/s1600/9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 321px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l2y6qkNptn0/Ty7iyQQcgPI/AAAAAAAACZA/wJA-mOJ54PQ/s400/9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705747130910277874" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Posing with Maximum Destruction</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hqitgj4OyB8/Ty7kFJufC2I/AAAAAAAACZM/vP2zo-Tc2eM/s1600/055.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hqitgj4OyB8/Ty7kFJufC2I/AAAAAAAACZM/vP2zo-Tc2eM/s400/055.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705748555086367586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Clothed in the finest cammo.</span><br /><br />(OMG. <span style="font-size:130%;">I just noticed myself in the bumper. No my rear-end is NOT that huge...)<br /></span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TmRirLSGAdU/Ty7kX3GVkpI/AAAAAAAACZY/oiYLHeZy5wY/s1600/120.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TmRirLSGAdU/Ty7kX3GVkpI/AAAAAAAACZY/oiYLHeZy5wY/s400/120.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705748876503650962" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">More interested in the food than "the wave."</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qc-wgyC49vY/Ty7k-UfnI3I/AAAAAAAACZk/9-6QMaYWlKw/s1600/116.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qc-wgyC49vY/Ty7k-UfnI3I/AAAAAAAACZk/9-6QMaYWlKw/s400/116.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705749537229316978" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And seriously? The Artists' boyfriend fits in with this family like okra in stewed tomatoes. No further explanation necessary.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbOsCWhBnehW1WGpFcYI1tTtxbLZgDLwjtWpsqJOEWUs5eCXG6GpADNALbK-GrdAdUrmcBY3nGyjddT9S3oJ3VYi9nsiushOiF3jIuxf3ZhP1D5uEPIfJ1kAwXlg93B7qsqaoTaOErZ0Y/s1600/057.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfbOsCWhBnehW1WGpFcYI1tTtxbLZgDLwjtWpsqJOEWUs5eCXG6GpADNALbK-GrdAdUrmcBY3nGyjddT9S3oJ3VYi9nsiushOiF3jIuxf3ZhP1D5uEPIfJ1kAwXlg93B7qsqaoTaOErZ0Y/s400/057.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705750692182606818" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We partied in the pits before the stadium opened under blue skies and warm breezes.<br /><br />I think I like Monster Jam much better when it's not pouring rain and 40 degrees. We didn't even need a sweater!<br /><br />Thanks global warming!<br /><br />Thanks The Genius for the pit passes!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">The monster trucks <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> disappoint!</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">We always have a fabulous time whoopin' and hollerin' when they tip, flip, and soar through the air.<br /></span><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PvzuhzjVnI4/Ty7nIex7J1I/AAAAAAAACZ8/Mk7HlVq-TIQ/s1600/145.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PvzuhzjVnI4/Ty7nIex7J1I/AAAAAAAACZ8/Mk7HlVq-TIQ/s400/145.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705751910812428114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Can't wait for Monster Jam 2013! Bring it on!<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEwdDLV7Zb9unsztlLpXvZQUJtUFmKmbBkUemPobIvZJAPV5CgktOztE8mm_C8cX_-O8x0c43uwwIrnfwwf6t3bwhfmAgIJWP5rk0_T6dq0ajpsBbLsTtY4I7x-U5gswy9URzt9UPl4o-/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGEwdDLV7Zb9unsztlLpXvZQUJtUFmKmbBkUemPobIvZJAPV5CgktOztE8mm_C8cX_-O8x0c43uwwIrnfwwf6t3bwhfmAgIJWP5rk0_T6dq0ajpsBbLsTtY4I7x-U5gswy9URzt9UPl4o-/s400/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705752431878100770" border="0" /></a><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-3848882136544026672012-02-03T04:05:00.001-08:002012-02-03T19:52:22.494-08:00"I Told My Dentist My Teeth Were Turning Yellow. He Told Me To Wear A Brown Tie." Rodney Dangerfiled<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YPW6lQzRiqY/Tyw0xaKYtBI/AAAAAAAACXU/mnAH_rxWtOE/s1600/List-of-Dentists.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YPW6lQzRiqY/Tyw0xaKYtBI/AAAAAAAACXU/mnAH_rxWtOE/s400/List-of-Dentists.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704992851412694034" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">All photos in this post are from Google Images</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">A few days ago I sat and prayed, "Lord....could we have one week without drama and medical appointment's?" His answer was clearly no.<br /><br />Ok. So here is your choice. You roll with that answer or you don't roll with it and if you don't roll with it then you are clearly inviting things like murderous thoughts, hypertension, headaches, nervous tics, and screw top gallon jugs of $4.99 wine into your life.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Looking back over the days since I blogged last on January 22, 2012 it is clear that I haven't blogged since January 22, 2012 because of the complexities of a life with many children. Both mine and the children of my clients.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />On the home front, The Teenager has been going to the same pediatric dentist for 15 years and has never missed a 6 month exam. That's 30 dental examinations for those of you who are counting. Unfortunately, during the first dental exam at the age of three they </span><span style="font-size:130%;">accidentally</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> choked my orally defensive CP child with the water squirter.<br /><br />She has NEVER forgotten this and has never behaved well since that first visit. I will say she has improved a little over the years. During the last exam and cleaning it only took 3 adults to hold her down. I believe she holds the office record for 6 adults.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Since the age of three, The Teenager has had a special disdain for this pediatric dentist compared to the orthodontist, pediatrician, ophthalmologist, orthopedic physician, and neurologist.<br /><br />Which is why...I suppose...in 15 years the pediatric dentist has never shot one x-ray. Which brings me to the 3rd molar eruption aka the wisdom tooth fiasco. Somehow those wisdom teeth began growing sideways beneath the gums and the next thing I know we are off to the University of Florida dental school to see about getting them out ASAP. Sans panoramic films or any kind of radio-graphic proof.<br /><br />Not always...and I say again...not always...but more often than not....it is all about HOW you approach special needs children. The tiny Asian lady at the UF dental school had that magic fairy dust clinging to her lab coat when she warmly shuffled the teenager off and with <span style="font-style: italic;">no issues</span> whatsoever took dental x-rays while I hid. Lots of x-rays. The Teenager came in to the exam room afterwards all smiles with a sheriff's badge affixed to her blouse.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Wow. What just happened, Tinkerbell?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">We then saw the cute, little "mini-dentist" who looked to be around 15 years old. I spelled words for her that she was not familiar with like Lamictal and Timolol and then she reviewed the x-rays laying out the three options for extractions poo-pooing the admission to the children's hospital because "you really want to avoid general anesthesia."<br /><br />Avoid general anesthesia with The Teenager? Oh. Ho. Ho. Ho.<br /><br />I will add an important tid-bit here for those of you who are unaware of the world of special needs children, many of whom have Medicaid. Children who have Medicaid are the property of teaching universities and medical/dental students in their area if you live in such an area. This is not always a bad thing if you live in an area like we do that has a pediatric hospital affiliated with John Hopkins and a state of the art dental clinic affiliated with the University of Florida and if you are a mother like me who does not hesitate to throw students out on their still powdered and diapered butts if they are idiots while demanding a real "ologist" or a face to face with Risk Management. Now.<br /><br />If you live in podunk and have Medicaid, however, you may want to consider relocation.<br /><br />The super nice, 15 year old "mini-dentist" informed me the "almost a dentist" who would be performing the oral surgery was currently in surgery so they sent the HEAD of the dental school in instead to meet The Teenager and review her films.</span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />I will refer to him as "the actual dentist." </span><span style="font-size:130%;">I liked him instantly.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />As a matter of fact I liked everyone at this clinic. It's not often the entire staff from receptionist to head of the department are this cheerful and humanoid. Call me jaded but after a while I was beginning to suspect a large scale Nitrous Oxide leak in the clinic.<br /><br />The first thing "the actual dentist" did was warmly grasp The Teenagers hand in greeting. I couldn't help but observe he was also scanning for IV sites. Clever dentist.<br /></span><p><span style="font-size:130%;">I was correct. Call me brilliant.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"How is she with IV's?" He asked quietly.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"That depends on how good your technique is." I replied.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"No pressure there," he jovially responds.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Sniff. Sniff. Is Nitrous Oxide odorless? I began breathing deeply. Just in case.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">After scanning Tinkerbell's films he announces the procedure would have to be done under general anesthesia in the children's hospital due to the proximately of the bottom 3rd molars to the inferior alveolar nerve. I could have bowed down and kissed his feet I was so relieved. Had the "almost a dentist" not been performing surgery and had they not sent in "the actual dentist" who had many, many years of wisdom and experience under his belt the outcome may have been<span style="font-style: italic;"> very</span> different.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">William Cowper put it nicely:</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">God moves in a mysterious way. His wonders to perform...."</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">The Teenager was admitted to the local children's hospital a few weeks later. It did not go well.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">When 'the actual dentist" came out of surgery around 7:30pm the first words out of his mouth were, "we had a little trouble."</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">I am quite familiar with the words, "we had a little trouble." With my three I've heard these words before.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"We had a little trouble with The Boy. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse him."</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"We had a little trouble with The Baby when we tried to wake her up from the adenoidectomy. She did not respond to the Narcan so we had to give her caffeine to facilitate breathing on her own. She won't be going home today as planned.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"We had a little trouble with The Teenager. In my 33 years as "the actual dentist" and hundreds of wisdom teeth extractions she was the top 5 worse cases I've<span style="font-style: italic;"> ever</span> done. We only managed to get 2 teeth out in 2 1/2 hours and in the process she lost a second molar which was fused to the wisdom tooth."</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">We had a little trouble.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">The "almost a dentist" is sitting behind "the actual dentist" looking terrified. I'm thinking he may have started the procedure but clearly did not finish it before "the actual dentist" had to take over. Two and 1/2 hours is a long time on a tooth.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">The next surgery is scheduled for March 23rd in hopes of removing the remaining wisdom teeth.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Today we went in for the post-op visit where we saw "almost a dentist." I have to say the man/boy is a living doll.<br /></span></p><p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s-l_9lwx34E/Tyw1rW-mwXI/AAAAAAAACXs/1WZDJpnY0IE/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 207px; height: 243px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s-l_9lwx34E/Tyw1rW-mwXI/AAAAAAAACXs/1WZDJpnY0IE/s400/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704993846990389618" border="0" /></a></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">He was wonderful with the Teenager and even managed to flush her surgical wound with chlorohexasomethingorother. We do not have to return until our surgery in March.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"Will you be doing the next surgery?" I inquired.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"Unfortunately, I will not be here in March so you will have Dr. Brady. She will be in the operating room with 'the actual dentist" and you will <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> like her. She is my dentist!" This man/boy is so stinking sweet and adorable I wanted to squeeze him.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Which is exactly why I almost bit my tongue in half when he mentioned Dr. Brady rather than spit out the words dancing on the tip of it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"Dr Brady! How lovely! Would that be Jan or Marsha?"</span></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NB3WyxZYEJkaDDsYQnMj-N6Wv66CGe1lLDF1vc5vB1nHUJHI_xRlAVAMQVCwqv28ADP9uvSu5qr09syLOzVA8gybi7GLkH1HL9Ptp-tdzvoFLSBvOWpTP7-y2RjUC2l90YzFzt8Rly4b/s1600/brady.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NB3WyxZYEJkaDDsYQnMj-N6Wv66CGe1lLDF1vc5vB1nHUJHI_xRlAVAMQVCwqv28ADP9uvSu5qr09syLOzVA8gybi7GLkH1HL9Ptp-tdzvoFLSBvOWpTP7-y2RjUC2l90YzFzt8Rly4b/s400/brady.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704993061556089266" border="0" /></a></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">You may be reading this thinking I am prone to exaggeration. No way.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">As we were leaving I stopped to remind the lady who schedules the hospital admissions that "the actual dentist" informed me after surgery that next time he wanted to schedule The Teenager as the first case in the morning and not the last case of the day.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">She smiles sweetly at me and responds, "she will be the only case on that day."</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Proof enough? I believe so.</span><br /></p>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-47258604233061148832012-01-22T05:46:00.000-08:002012-01-22T06:06:16.868-08:00O Come, O Come Emmanuel and Playstation<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YOAtLJeV7yk?fs=1" allowfullscreen="" width="459" frameborder="0" height="344"></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />And then I started to reflect on how blessed we are.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-81515218599996753162012-01-16T05:26:00.000-08:002012-01-16T05:31:12.992-08:00Autistic Girl Expresses Unimaginable Intelligence<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/vNZVV4Ciccg?fs=1" allowfullscreen="" width="459" frameborder="0" height="344"></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">In view of our recent conversations like <a href="http://elizabethaquino.blogspot.com/2012/01/lets-talk.html">this one</a> and <a href="http://milkweedmama7.blogspot.com/2012/01/how-far-removed-is-this-from-useless.html">this one </a>I believe EVERYONE should watch the clip above.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-22398426689834224532012-01-15T08:38:00.000-08:002012-01-15T10:08:07.351-08:00How Far Removed Is This From The 'Useless Eater" Philosophy?<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zNtJBj12ci0/TxMObzGGDYI/AAAAAAAACWM/lvV1MPlUEWI/s1600/Disabled-Child-with-Cerebral-Palsy.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zNtJBj12ci0/TxMObzGGDYI/AAAAAAAACWM/lvV1MPlUEWI/s400/Disabled-Child-with-Cerebral-Palsy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697913824288836994" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Google Images</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Who decides societal worth?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/disabled.html">Hitler</a> began with the special needs population.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Just thought i should point that out for those of you who were unaware of this fact.</span><br /></div><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">After reading Elizabeth's post on her blog <a href="http://elizabethaquino.blogspot.com/2012/01/lets-talk.html">A Moon Worn As If It Had Been A Shell</a> 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.<br /><br />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.</span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Shb4y-3ZgNI/TxMPZBN8jWI/AAAAAAAACWY/uN0h78VoLbM/s1600/special-needs-kid-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Shb4y-3ZgNI/TxMPZBN8jWI/AAAAAAAACWY/uN0h78VoLbM/s400/special-needs-kid-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697914876051885410" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Google Images</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">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."<br /></span><span class="" id="formatbar_PreviewAction" title="Preview"></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-304erBEGiQI/TxMLpMRnVGI/AAAAAAAACWA/32OwtOXCK7M/s1600/kira%2527s%2Binitial%2Breaction.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-304erBEGiQI/TxMLpMRnVGI/AAAAAAAACWA/32OwtOXCK7M/s400/kira%2527s%2Binitial%2Breaction.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697910755851457634" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">The Teenager sees her hummer limo for the first time on her 18th birthday</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />At least his attitude did not condemn my daughter to death like the little girl who needs a kidney transplant but it stung nevertheless.<br /><br />Then please go <a href="http://www.baynews9.com/article/news/2012/january/369526/Largo-school-has-autistic-boy,-6,-Baker-Acted#.TxLcgN3LGCs.facebook">here </a>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.<br /><br />It hit dangerously close to home for my friend.<br /><br />For those of you who do not know what t<a href="http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florida_Mental_Health_Act">he Baker Act </a>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):</span><br /><ul><li>has a mental illness (as defined in the Baker Act).</li><li>is a harm to self, harm to others, or self neglectful (as defined in the Baker Act).</li></ul><span style="font-size:130%;">I have to wonder why they Baker Acted this child instead of calling his mother?<br /><br />You ask what is this world coming to?<br /><br />Don't ask.<br /></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZnuuXLbWYg/TxMQ52Gtz-I/AAAAAAAACWk/TvQpKypohbI/s1600/5299266366_baed1893c4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 395px; height: 304px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XZnuuXLbWYg/TxMQ52Gtz-I/AAAAAAAACWk/TvQpKypohbI/s400/5299266366_baed1893c4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697916539516080098" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Google Images</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">You probably don't want to know.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-68252650478826630882012-01-09T10:12:00.000-08:002012-01-13T13:45:13.741-08:00Siblings, Inane Cosequences and Medicinal Marijuana<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEj0a6F5AIIhEVndH8DEFe9FfuVhERnGeOD8gXj6Gt1qupnz7L5_rLjY8gNTwsQD3Ottt7oJIyi8kz76M8r7471cz-JKqaP6NZQ8lkCZ22ZkSZoQNxYQXXsmyh2EW3zc8CY37jvoDsQiYV/s1600/funny-pictures-sibling-hummingbirds-fight3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEj0a6F5AIIhEVndH8DEFe9FfuVhERnGeOD8gXj6Gt1qupnz7L5_rLjY8gNTwsQD3Ottt7oJIyi8kz76M8r7471cz-JKqaP6NZQ8lkCZ22ZkSZoQNxYQXXsmyh2EW3zc8CY37jvoDsQiYV/s400/funny-pictures-sibling-hummingbirds-fight3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697178525911599698" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Google Images</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">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.<br /><br />Pffffft.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I had never met her parents, though. Until yesterday. Dear God. The poor things.<br /><br />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.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ryDu5AoB3Q/TxBybSz64PI/AAAAAAAACUs/aB3BoykO-ro/s1600/cake-sprinkles-candles3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 154px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ryDu5AoB3Q/TxBybSz64PI/AAAAAAAACUs/aB3BoykO-ro/s400/cake-sprinkles-candles3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697179341855318258" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Google Images</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">every</span> flavor. He is not </span><strike><span style="font-size:130%;">bright</span></strike> <span style="font-size:130%;"> 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.</span><br /><br />I. Could. Have. Wrung. His. Neck.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">always </span>forget I'm mad in the morning and further reminded me, "<span style="font-style: italic;">you can't spank me because I have a fragile butt</span>," I felt it was time to inflict some pain.<br /><br />Physical butt warming pain would have been truly satisfying but psychic pain would have to suffice.<br /><br />"<span style="font-weight: bold;">You are grounded for the weekend and you will not be going to the party</span>."<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mO23oafGcbs/TxBe40qYGyI/AAAAAAAACTk/Zzs9pbneWCc/s1600/Wong_pain_scale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 103px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mO23oafGcbs/TxBe40qYGyI/AAAAAAAACTk/Zzs9pbneWCc/s400/Wong_pain_scale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697157858925746978" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">After my proclamation The Boy's pain level was about a 1.<br /><br />When i came to my senses and realized my lesson regarding suffering consequences for wrongdoing was gong to <span style="font-style: italic;">cost me</span> $10.00 and hour for a sitter my pain level was about a 5.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mO23oafGcbs/TxBe40qYGyI/AAAAAAAACTk/Zzs9pbneWCc/s1600/Wong_pain_scale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 103px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mO23oafGcbs/TxBe40qYGyI/AAAAAAAACTk/Zzs9pbneWCc/s400/Wong_pain_scale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697157858925746978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Curly T volunteered for the</span> <strike><span style="font-size:130%;">warden position</span></strike><span style="font-size:130%;"> babysitting job</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">so before she arrived we ran to the store and bought a replacement present for Little Mia. One that The Boy could not ingest.<br /><br />While there we also saw the two and <span style="font-style: italic;">only</span> 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Blue-ray</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UH OH.</span><br /><br />Try explaining to The Teenager that we don't have <span style="font-style: italic;">Blue-ray</span> and that these wonderful bargains we found need to be taken back immediately. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">In hindsight it may have been easier to go out and invest in a <span style="font-style: italic;">Blue-ray</span> home theater system than it was to explain and re-explain to The Teenager that we had to return the DVD's .</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I found her hiding behind a post in Target crying and giving me the malocchio and she's not even Italian.<br /><br />I was seriously doomed.<br /><br /><span>After I managed to drag her out of the store kicking and sobbing we rushed home to wrap Little Mia's present. WT? </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">with</span> your glasses on it is time to get <span style="font-style: italic;">new</span> glasses.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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<br /><br />OMG.<br /><br />Help me! Somebody Help me!<br /><br />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.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ojYj_nFrsM/TxBmRwIfCyI/AAAAAAAACTw/DWsn9ELwkGg/s1600/budge.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5ojYj_nFrsM/TxBmRwIfCyI/AAAAAAAACTw/DWsn9ELwkGg/s400/budge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697165983787977506" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Google Images</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />She would not budge. It was like trying to move a rock. A big one.<br /><br />Mercifully, the retching stopped having spotted the cake and ice cream so she plunks herself down at the head of the table.<br /><br />"Is she ok?" asks Little Mia's mother who is cutting the cake.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Because she's crying," Little Mia's mother states.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"What is wrong?" I fake sweetness through clenched teeth. I may have cracked a molar.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">I. <span style="font-size:78%;">sniff </span> MISS. <span style="font-size:78%;">sob</span> MY. <span style="font-size:78%;">snort </span>BROTHER</span>!"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Are you frickin' kidding me? Am I really hearing this with my own ears?<br /></span></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eT8SXRJjTgE/TxB3IaPM1GI/AAAAAAAACU4/5g0bGgFf8Uc/s1600/Anger-Transference.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eT8SXRJjTgE/TxB3IaPM1GI/AAAAAAAACU4/5g0bGgFf8Uc/s400/Anger-Transference.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697184514989413474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />You mean the Brother you "H-A-T-E?"<br /><br />The Brother you think should get his own apartment? At the age of 11?<br /><br />The brother you wanted to trade in for a new baby yesterday?<br /><br />The brother who eats lip gloss but does this to perfectly good potatoes?<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7LNVCpMHNPU/TxCeg0LIH4I/AAAAAAAACVc/fPNups_Z8TE/s1600/potato%2Bclock.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7LNVCpMHNPU/TxCeg0LIH4I/AAAAAAAACVc/fPNups_Z8TE/s400/potato%2Bclock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697227815221993346" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The Jingle Bells all girls smell brother?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D8wMCmgaG4Y/TxCirpP_hlI/AAAAAAAACV0/PD_rfPtX6Jo/s1600/final%2Bfrog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 366px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D8wMCmgaG4Y/TxCirpP_hlI/AAAAAAAACV0/PD_rfPtX6Jo/s400/final%2Bfrog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697232399314683474" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This brother?<br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Somebody please give me some of this...<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDZhwkGmjOzychw1EF0s5AFM1M9zOxU_QKKiZaHLs7U7S3yV7iD4fmf58D0m6os2fqtzSBE-f-M13hfd_zoFAN012JtgNO6tfxEr_VKg1p0p-QHSom-RdqN3rXm6z5arL895j1fnyZZA0/s1600/prozac.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDZhwkGmjOzychw1EF0s5AFM1M9zOxU_QKKiZaHLs7U7S3yV7iD4fmf58D0m6os2fqtzSBE-f-M13hfd_zoFAN012JtgNO6tfxEr_VKg1p0p-QHSom-RdqN3rXm6z5arL895j1fnyZZA0/s400/prozac.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697187389301442402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Can I purchase it at Wal-Mart?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Or at the very least would someone introduce me to this woman? She looks like she could be a lot of fun...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YAx9XyrL2zM/TxB5F9j-jJI/AAAAAAAACVE/CoEuel6sdMk/s1600/medical-marijuana-patients.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 233px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YAx9XyrL2zM/TxB5F9j-jJI/AAAAAAAACVE/CoEuel6sdMk/s400/medical-marijuana-patients.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697186671955446930" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Google Images</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Perhaps I should hire a nice nanny? I wonder if this guy would be interested?</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-diTDa1eFzi4/TxChHRnP5BI/AAAAAAAACVo/vDIT_aTAGEM/s1600/hunk-beach-sunglasses.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-diTDa1eFzi4/TxChHRnP5BI/AAAAAAAACVo/vDIT_aTAGEM/s400/hunk-beach-sunglasses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697230674982855698" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">He looks like he would be good with kids.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Enough said.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-26896067646685464142011-12-26T05:50:00.000-08:002011-12-27T07:30:26.558-08:00Tis The Season<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2Ziu_Pf8OnY/Tvh8DGx5r6I/AAAAAAAACR4/t6J0otbTgbc/s1600/peek%2Ba%2Bboo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2Ziu_Pf8OnY/Tvh8DGx5r6I/AAAAAAAACR4/t6J0otbTgbc/s400/peek%2Ba%2Bboo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690434521983987618" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">According to The Artist I am now officially, "Dork mom"<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">It's been a while since I was able to sit down and post.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">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.<br /><br />Thank God for organic coffee and wonderful friends.<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hOx5fPG-fR0/Tvh-Ojs_LiI/AAAAAAAACSE/jUVj5wW02KY/s1600/barb%2Band%2Bfaith%2Buncropped.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hOx5fPG-fR0/Tvh-Ojs_LiI/AAAAAAAACSE/jUVj5wW02KY/s400/barb%2Band%2Bfaith%2Buncropped.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690436917749820962" border="0" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Haggie Maggie and dork mom<span style="font-size:78%;"> </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">on Christmas Morning<br />BFF for 48 years</span><br /></span><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">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.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*Please note the scarf from Island Rider in the above photo and note that it was also 80 degrees on Christmas morning. </span>It keeps the air conditioning off of my neck and I love it!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-owUNPmTm_Bw/Tvh__pqE5WI/AAAAAAAACSQ/ZcWW7S6iMgM/s1600/golden%2BKira.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 199px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-owUNPmTm_Bw/Tvh__pqE5WI/AAAAAAAACSQ/ZcWW7S6iMgM/s400/golden%2BKira.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690438860673443170" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">The golden girl at Christmas</span><br /><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">The Teenager</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">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.<br /><br />She loved the cable tv channel surfing, room service and spending the night with her big sister, The Genius who never left her side.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HsEmxDEBtxM/TviQefEMzYI/AAAAAAAACSc/YOX9qi9SkvM/s1600/Robin%2Bloves%2BBooks%2521.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 330px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HsEmxDEBtxM/TviQefEMzYI/AAAAAAAACSc/YOX9qi9SkvM/s400/Robin%2Bloves%2BBooks%2521.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690456982592212354" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />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<a href="http://www.fromaheavenlyland.blogspot.com/"> Island Rider</a> pointed out, however, The Baby is no longer a baby. I'm thinking we should have a contest to officially change her name.<br /><br />I vote for <span style="font-style: italic;">Sassafras. </span><span>Why? She has developed serious attitude which I suppose, is necessary for survival in this household.</span><br /><br />The Boy is ...well...the Boy.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisFZTGY53gJcsSRDheuvNi8e5Mf8flA40Se2_pJbI_ZWXopoMMF3Ai208HDM50dtcY9fVOeuLhvlyPzrKcc9rKAxUJe3IlpaiZUts3jBsR6lbP1Msl9G-abgTj7yTrAe8P8n8Dcyv4Bp9z/s1600/Michelle+pondering.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisFZTGY53gJcsSRDheuvNi8e5Mf8flA40Se2_pJbI_ZWXopoMMF3Ai208HDM50dtcY9fVOeuLhvlyPzrKcc9rKAxUJe3IlpaiZUts3jBsR6lbP1Msl9G-abgTj7yTrAe8P8n8Dcyv4Bp9z/s400/Michelle+pondering.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690477899656895842" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The Genius and The Boy.<br />Don't forget to brush your teeth before you burglarize the neighborhood, sweetie...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">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.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iB6c6jztSlI/TvjvoqTRD4I/AAAAAAAACTA/WRR3Lj_VoMc/s1600/nik.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iB6c6jztSlI/TvjvoqTRD4I/AAAAAAAACTA/WRR3Lj_VoMc/s400/nik.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690561611011526530" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">TBEMITUWL with Abby my grand-daugher</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The Artist is spending a little extra time with us this year and I've loved having her here.</span><br /></div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EltL1ghdwMI/TvjwbIfKBbI/AAAAAAAACTQ/z_sxC-MyaZA/s1600/Jennie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 332px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EltL1ghdwMI/TvjwbIfKBbI/AAAAAAAACTQ/z_sxC-MyaZA/s400/Jennie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690562478107919794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">The Artist loves her brothers artwork which featured prominently in this years gift exchange</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> I am thankful for each and every one of my blogging buddies and am blessed to have met you! </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Praying you all have a wonderful holiday season and a healthy, happy and prosperous 2012. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Onward to a new year!<br /></span></div></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-73120482789653604692011-12-25T05:30:00.000-08:002011-12-25T05:33:10.311-08:00Merry Christmas 2011<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1uVHj2udjOg_ukuYPqJ7AcrcNjyewjXMsYO2T3AYjl90uY8T3cdaJUq9Lq8eZAeHXGSgJ193wMVpGm_b5TSooPT5mRcfd7dLHUFKtSJ7NOq0wD_1y83HNRGnYmn238Yp6kaT9970ik_SA/s1600/Christmas+Eve+at+the+market.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1uVHj2udjOg_ukuYPqJ7AcrcNjyewjXMsYO2T3AYjl90uY8T3cdaJUq9Lq8eZAeHXGSgJ193wMVpGm_b5TSooPT5mRcfd7dLHUFKtSJ7NOq0wD_1y83HNRGnYmn238Yp6kaT9970ik_SA/s400/Christmas+Eve+at+the+market.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690058279977359650" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a healthy and happy 2012.</span><br /></div><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-15033067494895053712011-12-10T05:52:00.000-08:002011-12-11T07:51:53.905-08:00Obla Di Obla Da<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E2wtrBV9qEA/TuS7pF0m7HI/AAAAAAAACRI/-_BPszC9kek/s1600/life-goes-on.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E2wtrBV9qEA/TuS7pF0m7HI/AAAAAAAACRI/-_BPszC9kek/s400/life-goes-on.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684874944260271218" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Photo form Google Images<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Finally got the sutures removed this week and <span style="font-weight: bold;">the foot</span> 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.<br /><br />Since the swelling went down I demonstrated to the skeptical doc how I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> able to <a href="http://milkweedmama7.blogspot.com/2011/11/frankenfoot.html">move my toes side to side.</a><br /><br />The doc was stunned. Silence. And then he spoke.<br /><br />"If you ever figure out how you can use this talent in society please let me know."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Boy</span> 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...<br /><br />"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!"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"You were talking to your friend who died?</span>"<br /><br />"Wha?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">"You were talking to your friend who died?"<br /><br /></span><span>Completely missing the point as always.</span><br /><br />"How can I talk on the phone to a friend of mine who is dead?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">"Through a miracle."<br /><br /></span><span>Ah. Gotta love that child-like faith.<br /><br /></span></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Oiw1BDpnLOE/TuTHdqiR2ZI/AAAAAAAACRg/JV3iXPanNNQ/s1600/christmas.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Oiw1BDpnLOE/TuTHdqiR2ZI/AAAAAAAACRg/JV3iXPanNNQ/s400/christmas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684887942096607634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Boy</span> 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.<br /><br /></span></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B48Y76xVZoU/TuTFq_g33vI/AAAAAAAACRU/gvOF5npiudQ/s1600/rodding2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 173px; height: 250px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B48Y76xVZoU/TuTFq_g33vI/AAAAAAAACRU/gvOF5npiudQ/s400/rodding2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684885972042899186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Baby</span> 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.<br /><br />A lot.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Teenager</span> 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.<br /><br />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....<br /><br />Thank God music therapy at 4:30pm has been cancelled.<br /><br />I realize my "vacation" has come to an end and I find my self humming...<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPoNH4gidLg&feature=related">Oh Bladi Oh Blah Da</a></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">My own form of music therapy.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-71776414661696127342011-11-29T14:22:00.000-08:002011-11-29T18:11:07.797-08:00Frankenfoot<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9SDUeL-Pm0I/TtV_hnRfcFI/AAAAAAAACQ8/d_RDu5PRvD4/s1600/toe1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9SDUeL-Pm0I/TtV_hnRfcFI/AAAAAAAACQ8/d_RDu5PRvD4/s400/toe1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680586720452505682" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">YES</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:130%;">This has been an interesting week. Fortunately, I don't remember much of it. Between the Morphine every 6 hours and the agonizing post surgical pain I believe I entered into a dissociative fugue state that left me with partial amnesia for events experienced during the fugue state time frame.<br /><br />That's my theory anyway.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I remember the first night after surgery when the nerve block wore off about 10 hours too early. I was not prepared for the intense pain. Didn't I breeze through back surgery? Didn't I have abdominal surgery? Didn't I give birth to two children both of whom had complicated deliveries? Didn't I break this foot not once but three times recently?<br /><br />Walks in the park compared to Frankenfoot.<br /><br />On the morning after surgery I remember nausea overtaking me so suddenly that I projectile spewed all over the dining room table (yes, you heard me correctly), floor and kitchen cabinets since I could not run (let alone hobble) to the bathroom in time. Instantly, after I cleaned the barf up with bleach those familiar words came drifting down the stairs which I had not yet been able to even think about navigating...<br /><br />"I went <span style="font-style: italic;">POOOOOOOPIE</span>?"<br /><br />I remember calling up to The Teenager asking if she made it to the potty this time?<br /><br />"Sort of."<br /><br />Uh oh.<br /><br />I don't remember going up or down those stairs hauling bleach but I do remember cleaning up the "<span style="font-style: italic;">pooooooopie.</span>"<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">On day two after I had pressure washed my kitchen with puke I remember someone delivering a big Thanksgiving dinner to my door that my friend BJ had so carefully arranged for us to receive. Unfortunately, it was all frozen, including the turkey which also needed to be cooked. BJ was livid.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />"That's what you get when you leave a man in charge," she fussed.<br /><br />Before I knew it she was banging on my door with a huge pot roast, potatoes, carrots, gravy, rolls and a giant ham with pineapple rings decorating it and still fuming about the "damned frozen turkey."<br /><br />Two days after the surgery was Thanksgiving day and I felt well but not well enough to go to dinner at Mama Mia Maria's. I was able to make breakfast and lunch for the kids.<br /><br />Around dinner time, however, <span style="font-style: italic;">agonizing</span> ankle pain overtook me and i was unable to weight bear.<br /><br />At all.<br /><br />The teenager was crying because she was hungry. After all it had been nearly four hours since lunch.<br /><br />Dear Lord.<br /><br />I popped a Morphine, 600mg of Motrin and walker-hopped to the stove and made grilled cheese sandwiches for Thanksgiving dinner.<br /><br />Around 7 pm neighbors delivered a real Thanksgiving dinner to our door which we were all too tired and too full of cheese to eat.<br /><br />And the ankle pain was relentless. I figured I had a blood clot until BDDW called me and told me he had had a revelation regarding the ankle pain.<br /><br />'It's the boot. Take it off. Ice and elevate your ankle and try as much range of motion as you can tolerate."<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbQM4Cw3wwtEB67qR356XcdTSHaz8o4k9gfADIJ_poKx6_6jJwFa605gV6rOa7QK4ktercSlRLEfAVr6sNgGUPHZUuBG8gxctX5l6I50RYDo685WVqiLitaxDCzlzETD2MHz8uOa_AsXC/s1600/foot.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbQM4Cw3wwtEB67qR356XcdTSHaz8o4k9gfADIJ_poKx6_6jJwFa605gV6rOa7QK4ktercSlRLEfAVr6sNgGUPHZUuBG8gxctX5l6I50RYDo685WVqiLitaxDCzlzETD2MHz8uOa_AsXC/s400/foot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680562277076289650" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Scuba diving anyone?<br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I so love it when I have friends who practice medicine on the side. BDDW was 100% correct.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> Within 24 hours I could walk again.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Today I got my gross dressing changed and my first glimpse of Frankenfoot. The doctor was not pleased with the boot induced ankle pain story especially when he saw the </span><strike><span style="font-size:130%;">flipper</span></strike> <span style="font-size:130%;">boot that I had been given pre-operatively.<br /><br />I left the office with a boot that actually fit my size 6 1/2 foot</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">and a nice, clean dressing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">WOOT!<br /><br />In the past few days since I've been off the pain medicine and able to ambulate without agony I have passed the time by watching The Last Of The Mohicans, My Left Foot, Alice's Restaurant, The Constant Gardener, The Stand, and the first seasons of Storage Wars, Law and Order SVU and The Walking Dead. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Yes, the first seasons in their <span style="font-style: italic;">entirety.</span><br /><br />I'm beginning to relate to the zombies who are referred to in The Walking Dead show as, "the walkers." Not only do I have a Frankenfoot that would qualify me for the job I am also brainless after three days of Netflix.<br /><br />Next week sutures come out. In the meantime, the foot specialist instructed me to move my toe as much as possible. I told him I could already move it up and down but not side to side.<br /><br />The doctor nearly fell off of his stool laughing.<br /><br />"Toes don't move side to side," he howled.<br /><br />"I beg to differ! I'm certain I could move my toes side to side!" I informed him.<br /><br />"Bwahahahaha." The man is choking with laughter now.<br /><br />"It's been so long since you've had any movement in that foot you can't even remember how toes are supposed to move," he informs me.<br /><br />Yeah well...I bet my zombie friends can move <span style="font-style: italic;">their</span> toes from side to side.<br /><br />Those who have toes, that is.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-43997083221926352011-11-19T06:56:00.000-08:002011-11-19T06:56:57.193-08:00Daniel Boone Alive And Well In Florida<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xhEDRZMY_3U?fs=1" allowfullscreen="" width="480" frameborder="0" height="270"></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">For those of us in the Tampa Bay and Miami areas of Florida we have a tendency to forget that we are, after all, still in the deep south. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Daniel Boone reminded me of this today.</span><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-91582021244931350372011-11-17T12:06:00.001-08:002011-11-17T12:49:12.866-08:00Baby Sings The Blues<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47qUuHp6mVh0Uf0im6OsD9mbaoTtyGBx0G3vETieMxZnUnIqAbsm80pwWMujVarGybrPt26WJbcT5oCXel5B0csI7Aqc8yHZ7z901APtvUqp4tiN_jvFbC9mTvMVmOxepBml29OIT44nn/s1600/lady+sings+the+blues3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47qUuHp6mVh0Uf0im6OsD9mbaoTtyGBx0G3vETieMxZnUnIqAbsm80pwWMujVarGybrPt26WJbcT5oCXel5B0csI7Aqc8yHZ7z901APtvUqp4tiN_jvFbC9mTvMVmOxepBml29OIT44nn/s400/lady+sings+the+blues3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676061730094061026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />One of my neighbors who no one seems to know but me knocked on my door recently and asked If I would like their Play Station Rock Band. Her son has grown and moved away and no longer wanted it.<br /><br />Seriously?<br /><br />The Boy had received a Play Station from a friend years ago and it finally passed away this year. We've have no money to replace it so he's been without for quite some time.This week Curly T hooked up a few things for us and last night we were in Rock Band business.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vpVsNxy1aLE/TsVqfZVh_NI/AAAAAAAACP0/JMY8-lTMZAY/s1600/lady%2Bsing%2Bthe%2Bblues2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vpVsNxy1aLE/TsVqfZVh_NI/AAAAAAAACP0/JMY8-lTMZAY/s400/lady%2Bsing%2Bthe%2Bblues2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676059992980061394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I sat mesmerized for 2 hours watching The Boy drumming and The Baby singing.</span> <span style="font-size:130%;">And even though it was horrifyingly loud and The Baby sounded like a cross between Aretha Franklin and a screaming Janis Joplin I couldn't help but be fascinated by her facial expressions. This child puts her heart and soul into music.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AFsTXgsnx6c/TsVqwwfTkXI/AAAAAAAACQA/HJhATbpjLJg/s1600/lady%2Bsing%2Bthe%2Bblues4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 353px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AFsTXgsnx6c/TsVqwwfTkXI/AAAAAAAACQA/HJhATbpjLJg/s400/lady%2Bsing%2Bthe%2Bblues4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676060291252851058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Since she was a 5lb infant she has been fascinated by all music which she simply calls "<span style="font-style: italic;">song</span>." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"> Her favorite seems to be Nina Simone and she will sit and demand I replay Nina Simone videos over and over for her.<br /><br />An</span><span style="font-size:130%;">d is it just me or is there a resemblance?<br /><br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fVbHv9UuPhc/TsVvhrvmRBI/AAAAAAAACQY/ALR8xo-JfdM/s1600/Picnik%2Bcollage.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 202px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fVbHv9UuPhc/TsVvhrvmRBI/AAAAAAAACQY/ALR8xo-JfdM/s400/Picnik%2Bcollage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676065529839109138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Move over Nina. This Baby can sing the blues.</span><br /><br /><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8367051921026110661.post-70791750273641187402011-11-16T04:15:00.001-08:002011-11-16T08:43:24.004-08:00"... we do not take a trip, a trip takes us."<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zuqrgvJpXZ8/TsPemPBVZYI/AAAAAAAACPg/gvMCCGnSlsY/s1600/3uyyvzy6v30pyuv0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 285px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zuqrgvJpXZ8/TsPemPBVZYI/AAAAAAAACPg/gvMCCGnSlsY/s400/3uyyvzy6v30pyuv0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675624703865480578" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">If there is one thing I'</span><span style="font-size:130%;">ve learned while being the mom of three special needs children it is that making plans for the future is as absurd as a staunch Republican at a MoveOn meeting.<br /><br />Take this week for instance.<br /><br />Iris/Virus is on a cruise. I can't remember exactly who is on the cruise with her besides The Beard (see Bio's) and a pack of metal bands who's names elude me. Being of the Jimi Hendrix/Led Zeppelin era I wouldn't know a Whitesnake from a Metallica.<br /><br />So since I have no personal care assistant for The Teenager I had to take off of work this week. You know? The job with no benefits such as insurance coverage, sick time, vacation time, gas reimbursement, etc.<br /><br />Yes, the older I get the more backwards my employment river seems to flow.<br /><br />Then I found out I have to have surgery and the doctor wants me off work for at least 4 weeks. Home for the holidays only sounds charming in the movies.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uxK0SJM0CE8/TsO4Td5GClI/AAAAAAAACPE/ICA9Rb0ktTE/s1600/Home%2Bfor%2Bthe%2BHolidays.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uxK0SJM0CE8/TsO4Td5GClI/AAAAAAAACPE/ICA9Rb0ktTE/s400/Home%2Bfor%2Bthe%2BHolidays.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675582599998081618" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sing it Perry<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;">Home for the holidays in the real world means no paycheck at Thanksgiving and Christmas.<br /><br />I'm hoping my recovery is swift and that I can return sooner than later to work. After all, I can't shake that feeling that I am safer at work than I am locked in this house with the three musketeers.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-grq9_tJpa-8/TsPSywVX3dI/AAAAAAAACPQ/jYLW9cTp2XE/s1600/shooter.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 331px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-grq9_tJpa-8/TsPSywVX3dI/AAAAAAAACPQ/jYLW9cTp2XE/s400/shooter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675611724826795474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />In the meantime this week was to have been a week to have fun with The Teenager and prepare for the surgery/holidays by getting as much done as humanly possible. Yesterday was a perfect example of why plans do not work well in my world.<br /><br />After the pediatrician finished chewing me out for taking The Baby to the Emergency room after the <a href="http://milkweedmama7.blogspot.com/2011/11/face-plant.html">face plant</a> we scheduled a follow up appointment for a face plant re-check and flu vaccines for The Baby and The Boy. Unfortunately, the morning of the appointment The Teenager began vomiting.<br /><br />When the Teenager vomits she stands firmly rooted to her current spot and simply let's the barf spill up and over. It doesn't matter if she is on her new purple carpet, sitting on the living room sofa, or in the middle of a department store. She barfs where she stands. And then she stick her fingers down her throat and barfs some more. And then she walks in it.<br /><br />One hour before the pediatricians appointment clear across town I am mucking in the midst of the Woodstock of vomit festivals.<br /><br />Obviously not able to drag the poor girl to the pediatricians office with us I searched frantically for a teensitter. My entire backup posse was either at work or ill themselves so I did something I've never done before. I called my 92 year old father and Pearl Harbor survivor, Popi, and asked him to teensit.<br /><br />I'm sure you are all under the assumption that i hesitated because Popi is 92 soon to be 93. After all, we are all guilty of making assumptions regarding age and aging.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">FYI</span>: The man is in better shape than I am and only this year have I noticed him slowing down <span style="font-style: italic;">a little</span>. By slowing down I mean he has <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">slightly</span> limited his tree climbing, brick laying, building and painting projects.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">FYI: </span>I hesitated because he is a <span style="font-style: italic;">hideous babysitter</span>. This I've learned from my own child hood as a rather sickly child who missed a lot of school. Since my parents both worked he was occasionally left in charge of me.<br /><br />I was lucky to get a sip of water or a baby aspirin out of the man during his 8 hour shift.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--cztIkVP6N8/TsO3QAhbreI/AAAAAAAACO4/ymm6do3mYkg/s1600/final.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 372px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--cztIkVP6N8/TsO3QAhbreI/AAAAAAAACO4/ymm6do3mYkg/s400/final.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675581441062972898" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Popi and The Boy taking a break.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:130%;">When I returned from the pediatricians Popi was out back sweeping the patio he constructed. In his defense the man<span style="font-style: italic;"> did</span> leave the sliding glass doors open while sweeping. I'm not sure why since the air conditioner was blasting and the man is as deaf as a tree stump from destroyer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Depth_charge">depth charges</a> that exploded around his submarine during multiple World War 2 battles. The important thing was that the man made an effort to <span style="font-style: italic;">pretend</span> he was observing The Teenager.<br /><br />And when I returned home I was barely in the door when i heard those familiar words, "uh oh! I have diarrhea," wafting from up stairs along with a distinct odor. <span style="font-style: italic;">And did she ever.</span><br /><br />Walls. Clothing. Floor. Rugs.<br /><br />Yep.<br /><br />Today hasn't gone much better, actually. The Boy is home for the second day in a row. He was not given the flu shot yesterday because, as it turns out, he was wheezing. Who would have known? He tells me nothing and shows no visible signs of illness. Am I supposed to be psychic? And let me just say that knowing what tomorrow would bring is about the last thing on my Christmas wish list. I'd probably die of fright.<br /><br />Although projects have been altered this week to accommodate the usual insanity all has not been lost. I managed to get our 3 Christmas trees up and Friday night Curly T and I are planning a <a href="http://milkweedmama7.blogspot.com/2011/10/we-did-it.html">booze jam</a> marathon.<br /><br />Uh oh, did I say, <span style="font-style: italic;">planning? </span>Perhaps I should rephrase that...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My favorite author of all times</span> sums it up more succinctly than I ever could since I'm prone to run on sentences and flight of ideas:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;" class="body">A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. </span><span class="body"><span style="font-weight: bold;">John Steinbeck</span><br /><br />Thanks for the reminder, John. If you were here now I'd propose a toast to your wisdom with booze jam. Or at least give you a piece of toast with booze jam on it.</span></span><br /></div></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><a style=" font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-decoration:none; color:#999999; padding:0px; margin:0px;" href="http://www.allblogtools.com/"></a>SECRET PEPPER PERSON:http://www.blogger.com/profile/06434583043459305729noreply@blogger.com8