i must be maturing...

Cheer's First Communion is tomorrow. TOMORROW! I should be freaking out. Cleaning, maybe? Ironing? Putting the finishing touches on the official First Communion banner (which is actually Bounce's banner re-purposed (go click that link... it's one of my favorite posts...)).

Instead? I'm sitting here drinking coffee and surfing the internet. I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I used to completely freak out before a party. Maybe I'm getting better at planning. Maybe I've matured. Maybe I just don't care anymore. (Or maybe, as some wise people once told me, if I have plenty of good food and drink, my guests probably won't care about a few dustbunnies in the corners.)

I even had jury duty this week and spent most of a day sitting around the courthouse reading books on my Kindle. (Books on my Kindle right now: one about a mom who dies after childbirth, a celebrity who dies from an aortic aneurysm, a mother who dies while running on a treadmill, and a family that gets killed by a psychopath. Cheery! Also? A tip? Don't read books about mothers dying while you are sitting in a room full of 300 potential jurors. Or if you do, make sure you're wearing waterproof mascara.)

Laundry Dad has been killing himself (ahh... what's with all the death?) renovating our basement in the past few months. I may have given him the deadline of the First Communion. And, well, once you issue him a challenge, he will throw down whatever it takes to prove he can do it.

The formerly scary cricket house bathroom was completely re-finished, and it is LOVELY, I have to say. (Design by Sue.) It's the only room in our house that doesn't have a window, so it's our tornado room. I can't wait for the next tornado warning so I can sit on that gorgeous slate floor with my bottle of vodka. (Oh and the four kids piled in around me.)

He built out an office space where our computer/office will eventually go. But we need someone to come build the desk and cabinets and stuff for that.

He made the main room bigger by merging in a smaller storeroom, and that's where all the Legos and the plastic kitchen will live. Slightly out of sight, but not.

The main room, where the TV is, is not completely finished. It needs lights in the ceiling and a camouflage job done on the groovy 70s swirly plaster ceiling. Oh and furniture! (That's where I come in! Wheee!) Right now, the kids are sitting on an old coffee table to watch TV. And new carpet. And, yes, this part, this mostly post-free-labor part... that's where it gets expensive, so it may be 5 more years before I have the place looking like I want it.

After all that explanation, I'm not posting pictures because I can't spoil the big reveal for people who will be here tomorrow.

Pictures Monday. Or Tuesday, or something.

I'm off to contemplate straightening up. Or maybe going to get a pedicure. Or taking a nap.

and this happened

Dear Child,

Ever since you were little, I've tried to teach you one of life's very important lessons.

Work hard, stay focused, do your best and you will find success.

And I have to say, you've mastered the lesson well. In everything you do - you pay attention, you practice, you give it your all. And you have found success.

Now you must learn one of life's other important lessons.

Sometimes your best isn't good enough.

As much as it is deeply ingrained in the core of my motherly-soul, to always want to make things right for you, I can't make this one right.

And even if I could, you're at the age where you need to learn this lesson.

This won't be the last time you work your ass off for something (or desperately want something) and don't get it.

There will be a girl you will really love who won't love you back.

There will be a college you think is a perfect fit that you won't get into.

There will be your dream job that will go to someone else.

And even when you are grown, I will still want to fix these things for you. To make them right. But I can't.

Learning to accept disappointment, even crushing, unfair, inexplicable disappointment, is a part of life.

We all endure it.

And, not always, but every now and then, if you're lucky, something hopeful, something positive, even something that is a blessing, may be waiting on the other side of your despair.

A "Plan B" that ends up being better than "Plan A" ever could have been.

Since I can't fix them all, even though I'd like to, I wish you many happy Plan Bs.

Love, Mom

first and ten

Well, there's nothing like having a little internet pity party to spring a person into action.

Janel left me an excellent comment on my last post about searching a local message board in the special needs forum. (Thank you, Janel!) I didn't find the silver bullet... i.e., here's an OT who takes your insurance and is AMAZING with kids... in fact, I found completely the opposite. Which is ok too.

I found lots of parents saying that they had tried and tried to work within their insurance company's limitations (my insurance company in particular, in fact) and it just could not be done. They paid out of pocket to get the best they could for their kid.

And maybe that's exactly what I needed to hear. We WILL get Shout evaluated, wherever she needs it. We'll deal with any therapy or testing costs later. One step at a time... one evaluation at a time. We will do this.

She's had a really rough couple of weeks. Her class met at her teacher's house (!!!) two weeks ago. They planned to walk to a nearby playground before lunch. But she got into a scuffle with one of the other kids and completely flipped out, so I made her stay back with me until she calmed down.

I wanted her to stay calm for TWO minutes and then we could walk to the park. But she could. not. do. it. She was yelling and screaming and kicking things. Finally... FINALLY (after a LONG time) she managed to hold it together for two minutes and we got up to walk down the street to the park... and we saw the whole class coming back.

My heart broke into 1000 pieces for her.

She threw herself down on the ground and cried her heart out. And honestly, I wanted to join her there. It was a sad moment.

On Saturday, she had soccer. I'm not sure what it is about soccer that makes her crazy. She likes it, I think. She asked to sign up for it. All her friends are on her team and she has a fabulous coach.

But crazy she was. She was yelling that she hates me from the middle of the field. She was SPITTING towards me. (Yes. Other parents were asking "Did your daughter just SPIT at you?" Oh yes. She did.) It all went rapidly downhill for reasons I don't even understand. So I had to pull my ace. I told her if she didn't behave, she wouldn't get to go to the neighborhood fair that was happening right after.

And, you might have guessed already, she didn't behave.

And so she didn't get to go. And she CRIED. And SCREAMED. And KICKED me. And THREW things at me. (Most of this was still at the soccer field.)

And inside, I wanted to cry, because I knew she REALLY wanted to go. And honestly, I don't know if she CAN control herself. But mostly, I was embarrassed. I'll admit. Those other parents were looking at me and my kid, and maybe they weren't judging. But it felt like they were. I just couldn't handle going to another public place with her that day.

I had my last parenting class last week. It was excellent. It was like a little oasis of sanity every Thursday. I cried when it was over. (Is it me or is there a lot of crying in this post?) Mostly because I feel like although I learned some great techniques, I don't feel like I'm any closer to figuring out Shout. Why does she go from absolutely delightful to a raving lunatic for seemingly no reason? Why can she cuddle me and tell me she adores me and 10 minutes later scream that she hates me and spit at me?

I haven't figured that out yet. But I'm going to keep looking until I find someone who can.

punt

It’s been kinda quiet here. I always try to post an update on things when I get to the funny part of whatever is happening. Sometimes the funny doesn’t come to me until a few days later, but I’m always looking for it.

But I’m not at the funny part of what’s happening lately. Who knows how long it will take? So I’ll just jump on in. Otherwise, it could be September before I post again.

Shout has been feeling crappy for two weeks. Her stomach. At first, I thought it was a stomach bug. It’s been the Year of Vomit here, so what’s one more round, right? But it’s not a stomach bug.

So I took her to the doctor earlier this week. We got Dr. Distractingly Handsome again. He asked about her recent medical history and I pulled out a three-page letter from NIH. (The one that was sent via telepathy.) He decided to send us off for an abdominal x-ray to look for a few things. He would call as soon as he got the report.

After a day and a half, I still hadn’t heard from him. (More telepathic communication?) I called and talked to a nurse who told me the x-ray was normal and all was fine.

“But she’s not fine,” I said.

She went through the list of things that cause stomach pain.

Gas. “Really? Gas? For TEN days?”

Low blood sugar? “Then would it hurt before AND after she eats?”

I asked about stomach acid. She didn’t think that could be it, but we could try Tums.

“Food allergies?” Well... maybe. She suggested gluten, but she was just tested for gluten allergy a month ago. After researching food allergies, I’m going to try dairy elimination.

Then, several days after the x-ray, Dr. Distractingly Handsome called. He thinks we should wait until we see the nephrologist and ask him. Which is a whole week away. And last I checked, the kidneys are not part of the digestive system. Right?

Meanwhile, Shout hasn’t eaten anything but crackers and toast in two weeks. But we are officially turfed to the next doctor. No Patient Left Behind.

On other fronts, my insurance company will not let us see any of the OTs I would like to evaluate her. Oh, we can see them, but it will cost us $1500. I’m now working my way through the list of in-network OTs to find one who sees kids and can evaluate for sensory processing problems. (Note to insurance company, these things would make a helpful component of your database and would save HOURS of my time. Assholes.)

I also asked if a neuropsych exam would be covered, because that’s another suggestion we’ve gotten. “Oh sure. That’s covered,” the insurance company rep assured me. “Search for neuropsychologists to get a list of the in-network providers.”

So yeah. There are NO in-network neuropsychologists within 100 miles of me. Which includes all of the DC Metro area, Baltimore and Philadelphia.

Well played, insurance company. Well played.

So we need to go somewhere. And we most likely will have to pay out of pocket for wherever we go. I don’t even know where to begin. Our pockets are extremely shallow. Psychologist, neuropsychologist, developmental pediatrician, occupational therapist? I can’t afford to try them all. If I knew what was wrong, I would know which one to go to.

I don’t feel like I can manage all this. And I’m feeling a distinct lack of love from my pediatrician’s office lately.

I’m exhausted by it all.

Dr. Google and I have carried this ball as far as it can go. I need a quarterback.

an the winner is...

Dawn from My Thoughts Exactly! Congratulations! (I'll email you.)

weekend style - me on a tee

A few weeks ago, I got the opportunity to meet Rachel Mehta, who founded Me On A Tee, and makes these super cute t-shirts showing off your family's ancestry! (She also blogs here.)


There's Rachel. Isn't she adorable? And check out that shirt!

Me On A Tee has two types of ancestry shirts, a flagpole and a pie chart. I can't decide which one I like more. (She also has infant through adult sizes. Wouldn't these be the CUTEST baby shower gift?)



My personal pie chart is pretty boring. 100% Irish (although if you want to go back to before the Norman Invasion in 1169, I think it gets slightly more interesting... and then there was the Spanish Armada that shipwrecked in Ireland in 1588 and uh... joined the bloodline, ifyouknowwhatImean).

My kids, however, are Irish and German. (And Norman and Spanish?). If you're thinking to yourself, "Wow. That combination would make some stubborn kids," why, yes! You are absolutely right!

As a kid, my life was filled with lots of Irish culture, music, food and traditions. With my own kids though, I feel like I've fallen down on the job. I haven't kept as much of the culture alive in their lives as I would like to, and I really know very little about German culture so we haven't integrated much of that at all. (Other than yelling "Schnell! Schnell!" when we are late for school.) Meeting Rachel has inspired me to do a better job with this. Soda bread, anyone? Guinness?

I interviewed Rachel earlier this week to find out more about her inspiration and ancestral traditions.

What was your inspiration for starting Me On A Tee?

I was always aware of how mixed up I was ethnically. People would be surprised to learn I was 1/4 Greek for instance. Only third generation American, I didn't know for certain all the places my great grandparents were born. My daughters are so many things (and then my husband is Indian), so they have quite a bit culturally to absorb. I thought it'd be fun to show all the pieces of the puzzle that they are on a t-shirt. From that idea, I decided to make unique t-shirts for others who wanted to share their diverse ancestry. It's a way to get people talking about their family history and to hopefully pass the stories on to the next generation.


What traditions of your heritage have you/do you hope to continue from your childhood to your daughters' childhood?

From my background, we celebrate all the major Jewish holidays. My girls will go to Hebrew school and have a Bat Mitzvah. All that jazz. And I'll make certain foods that I grew up eating and link to family (a special Sephardic way to hard boil eggs for Passover; a rolled pastry bread called "potesa" from Austria)


What tradition would you adopt from another culture if you could?

I must admit, I've always wanted a Christmas tree - it would be nice to sit and look at the lights and would be meaningful to hang ornaments that the kids had made over the years. Oh well! All those pine needles to clean up.... and all the ornaments to store.....

{Oh yes on the pine needles and ornament storage! And I totally went and googled how you boil your Passover eggs - so interesting!}


Now the really exciting part...

Rachel has generously offered to give away one of her custom shirts to a Laundry for Six reader! And she's also giving us a HUGE 30% discount (through June)!! (Use the code MLAW11 at checkout.)

Leave me a comment to enter the giveaway and tell me something about your ancestry. And if you go Like Me On A Tee on Facebook, come back and tell me and you get an extra entry. (And thank you, Rachel! It was great to meet you!)

(GIVEAWAY IS OPEN UNTIL MONDAY AT MIDNIGHT.)

hidden clause

I gotta say, even seeing a PICTURE of a ouiji board still freaks me out a little.

Buried deep in Obama's Health Care Reform Act is a hidden clause I bet you never heard of...

Physician-Patient Communications

Henceforth, whenever possible, all physician to patient (or patient family) communications shall be conducted telepathically, in accordance with the Paperwork Reduction Act of 1995 and the Electronic Communications Act of 2003. This is intended to reduce the paperwork burden on both the health care provider and the patient. In addition, this will reduce the liability burden on the physician's malpractice insurance provider, as telepathic communications are untraceable, unrecordable, and not admissible in a court of law. *

Who knew, right?

Which totally explains why Shout's Dr. B told me she would send me a copy of the letter she wrote to Dr. Everything Will Be Alright. She didn't mention it would be via telepathic delivery.

Dr. Everything Will Be Alright got the letter. And he read it. And he jotted down some notes in his computer about it. And then he apparently sent me those notes telepathically.

Things like "Go to Children's Hospital. Let's find out why Shout's kidneys are bleeding. Run! Fast!"

And here I was thinking that the wheels of health care were just turning slowly. Because you know, they have before.

Nope. As it turns out, the problem was ME. And my telepathic receiver that I didn't have turned on. Because I didn't read the whole health care bill, I guess.

*(I made up this paragraph. Obvs. But it's pretty good, isn't it? I should totally run for Congress.)

sealed with a kiss

Is this photo AMAZING or what?
Can anyone imagine Donald Trump in that room?
I didn't think so.
And look! Joe Biden is awake! (Although possibly on the verge of nodding off.)

I had a very serious, reflective post about Osama bin Laden all composed in my head yesterday. But I spent the day at the grocery store (where the checkout lady that I try to avoid TOTALLY faked me out with a WIG and I ended up spending an ETERNAL amount of time in her line) and then re-loading the refrigerator and pantry after 3 weeks of slapshot grocery shopping. (Not to mention cleaning out the Easter leftovers. Ew.)

So by the time I sat down last night in front of CNN, laptop searing a burn mark into my thighs, all the good stuff had already been said.

So instead, I've tried to imagine what it was like to live inside a house for FIVE years without going outside. It's like the first 3 months of having a newborn, except it goes on for 20 times as long. Never reaching that stage where you can coordinate a shower, feeding, clean diaper, good weather and daylight in order to take a stroll up the block. Until you realize you forgot the binky. Or projectile vomiting ensues.

Or was that just me?

If it didn't sound appalling, I'd almost say I love that he used one of his wives as a human shield. Way to go down classy, Osama. If you hadn't already blown your chance at the 72 virgins, I'm pretty sure they won't have anything to do with you after that.

I am absolutely astounded at the precision and skill of the Navy SEALS who carried out the operation. I've already applied to have them come annihilate my pile of unfolded laundry next. (I'll surrender, I promise! Don't shoot me! Although my kids would probably love it if you blew up a Black Hawk in my front yard. (Try not to scorch the azaleas though, please. Also, the lady across the street is kind of a freak about not blocking her driveway.))

Osama, I'm glad you're gone. You unleashed a wave of evil in this world that has forever changed who we are and how we live. I hope you've gotten what was coming to you. I don't celebrate your demise, I only continue to mourn all that we have lost.

(Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)