Something else I worry over...

You know we all worry about how messed up our kids are going to be, but I think it begins to take on an entirely different meaning when you have a child with special needs. Though I'm not sure that K's needs are all that special in the grand scheme of things. Especially when I see other children who are not as high functioning as she is, and have the same troubles.

Anyway, my point here is I wondered again today how messed up I've already made my kids. I mean I know the goal is to raise them, so that they are independent and -want- to leave, but do I do that to the detriment of their mental health and further more, what is healthy? I know each person has their own definition of healthy, and happy, and normal, but do or rather will my kids fit with in the acceptable parameters of normal?

I don't worry so much about B, though I have realized in the last week that I cling a little too tightly and she really really needs me to let go. I mean really let go, not pretend to let go and then follow along behind her hiding in the bushes. She's already figured out who she is, well in so much as an 11 year old can figure that out. She smart, funny, has a knack for finding the engaging in any situation, loves fully, expresses emotion with passion, and knows what she wants to be when she grows up. I've been informed, by the way, that she wants to go to NYU. Good luck, baby, that's all I have to say about that.

Then, we turn our heads and look down K's road, and that is when I really start to worry. Will she ever be able to live on her own? Will I be her guardian until I no longer have my own faculties? Do I have what it takes to see her through until she can take care of herself? And damn it, will she ever learn to put her dishes in the sink?

I don't know, and that scares the bejeezus out of me. I know, I've got a full ten years left before she's even old enough to go off to college, that should be plenty of time, right? I like to tell myself that she'll be so used to medications and such, that she'll stay on her meds, but that doesn't mean that she will. I like to tell myself that she will have caught up to herself and be developmentally 18, when she's chronologically 18, but that doesn't mean that she will. But to be frank, one of us on this team has to remain optimistic, or that kid simply doesn't have a chance.

Bet that as it may, I am determined that by the end of this week she will be putting her dishes in the sink after each meal, with out being told to do so. And my insistance on such a thing, is going to make it so that when she is on her own, her dishes will never make it to the sink again...

Look out 3rd and 6th grade here we come!

Well it's official, we're ready for school to start! The girls have met their teachers, K got the 3rd grade teacher we were hoping for. We took all of K's supplies up to open house and they are waiting in her desk, at the very front of the class, yes folks she picked that spot, and she wants me to iron her dress for the first day of school, "I know you don't iron all that great Mommy, but just try a little, okay?" Sure honey anything for you.

B has all of her supplies, the right ones now, and they are all neatly tucked into her messenger bag, along with her gym clothes, and little toiletries bag with deodorant and a hair brush and gym shoes. They don't turn in their supplies until the second day of school, but she's taking hers in and putting them in her locker. The only thing left to get is a pair of ballet flats that she can wear with everything.

On the one hand I am so ready for them to go to school I can't see straight. Between the bickering and the fighting and the sometimes all out hostility between them, I want very much for their happy little butts to be in school and doing something productive.

On the other hand, I don't think I'm emotionally ready for this school year. I have to say I'm going to be a freaking basket case of tears when those two little monkeys walk into their separate school buildings and go off to their new big worlds.

"Because being a 3rd grader means you're one of the big kids Mommy, and you don't have to sit with the baby kinders anymore."

Beautifully Distracting

I love clouds. I could spend hours staring at the sky, and I am blessed to live in a place where the sky is huge, open and perfectly unbroken. I would say about 90% of all photographs that I take include the sky or unusual clouds.

I love that I can drive to and from work, all 28 miles round trip, and see the beautiful handiwork of God. I have an almost irresistible temptation to take pictures of the clouds every day, but I don't. It's not really safe. And for those of you who follow me on facebook, then you've seen the times I've given into the temptation and taken the pictures. The most recent was the day it rained and half the sky was all dark and ominous with this square of sunshine through the clouds and the other half was big bright fluffy clouds and sun shine. It was gloriously beautiful and I had to take pictures.

The only change I would make to this whole thing would be a view of the sky at work, but then again... if I had one I wouldn't be doing much work.

And I truly believe that God is an artist and he uses the sky to express His incredible love for us and the world He created.

Falcon Camp

Today B went to Falcon Camp. They have one for all incoming 6th graders at all the various middle schools and it serves as their orientation. They get a tour of the school, are assigned lockers, shown where their "Registration Rooms" are, given text books to put in said lockers, and they go over the general school rules and dress code. Then they finish the day by giving the kids ice cream sundaes before we come pick them up and try to get them to eat lunch.

Beth gets in the car, with a sigh (I was five minutes late, but she wasn't the last on there.)

"So how was it?"

"Good. I got a bottom locker." This is said with a grimace and another sigh. "And they insisted on calling me (her full name which spell check hates) all day. I kept correcting people and they wouldn't let me correct it on my name tag."

I gave her little knee a pat. "Don't worry, the first day of school will be the same way. You'll have to correct everyone then as well."

I got one of those head bobble, shoulder shrug, I guess you're right gestures.

"So other than the locker bummer and the name thing, how'd it go?"

"Good, I saw a -lot- of my friends I haven't seen since like Kindergarten and some from second grade when I was at Cypress. And mom, they're all so much bigger, but still look the same. They said I look the same too. And no one laughed at my shoes."

"Why would they laugh at your shoes?"

"I don't know, I just worried about it, since they're all glitter and rainbows."

"I should think it wouldn't matter."

"Yeah. Oh! and they said they worked it out so that there's no way the seventh and eighth graders can pick on us, except at lunch."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, all the seventh and eighth graders are on the second floor and the sixth grade is on the first floor, but our lunches over lap a little."

"I patted her knee again. I don't think you'll have any trouble, unless you are rude on purpose."

Though I don't think she'll have any trouble even if she is really. The kids here are just different than most kids. Our area is um...not lacking for money, and neither is our district. So most of these kids are raised to not bully and their parents take it seriously, not to mention the district is pretty strict about it. So the majority of the students in these schools have been raised with a standard that is exacting, clearly stated, and fully enforced.

She's excited, and is really happy that her first class every day is Math 6- PACE- Pre-AP. Nothing like starting your day with your favorite subject and ending it with your second favorite, Language Arts 6- Pre-AP. I just hope she remembers to sleep at night...

Feeling Bunny-ish

Did you ever get the feeling you should be doing a way better job at your current occupation?

Dictionary.com defines occupation as any activity in which a person is engaged. So anything you are doing when you are doing it is your occupation.

So with that definition in mind, I, from time to time, get a feeling I could be doing way better at said occupation. Confused yet? Yeah me to.

Any-hoo, I shall give you an example. The current occupation I am lacking in at the moment is the teaching of my youngest child to tie her shoes. Not such a big deal you say... How old were you when you could tie your shoes? Five maybe six, possibly seven at the latest. I know I had the task mastered by the time I began kindergarten. I will say that it is mostly my doing that she doesn't know how to tie them. We have after all, avoided tieing shoes for as long as possible, but really unless I want my child wearing zstraps to college, I'm going to have to teach her this life skill.

So we have been working on this over the summer. Going with the bunny ears method for the time being. Earlier today we sat down with a shoe each and began to practice this and K, being K, needed to chatter.

"Did you know that shoe strings have bunny ears because they need to hear other people coming, and when you tie their ears in a knot, they hear so much better. Know why? Because it's like those big ugly hunting dogs you, know like that one in Lady and the Tramp. Yeah like that one, and oh, thanks mom a blood hound. Shoes are like blood hounds, their ears hang low to trap sound better.

Do your ears hang low to the bobble to and fro?
Can you tie the in a knot can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder like a compatenal soldier?
Do your ears hand low?

But when you untie your shoes, and take them off it's okay they don't have ears anymore, because since you don't have them on they don't have to protect your feet. Mommy, when I go to school for third grade my feet will need to be protected. Cause third grade kids like to step on your feet. So I'm glad I'm learning this. Hey Mommy, I'm hungry do you think we could have some carrots. I'm feeling a little bunny-ish so I want some carrots."


Yeah, she still doesn't know how to tie her shoes yet...

Jeremiah was a Bullfrog

Well actually he was a toad, and he was in my car.

Recently after it had rained for a couple of days the girls and I were off to do...um something, and I had sent them down to the car while I talked with their dad for a moment. As we're talking, K comes bursting through the garage door.

"Mom! There's a frog in your car!"

I turned and looked at her, "What?"

"There's a frog in your car."

I looked at C and said, "I guess I'll talk to you later, I need to go see about a frog."

He laughed and I went down stairs. But Sarah, why were you not paniced and flying down the stairs to find out what manner of horrific creature was in your lovely car? Well, it's like this. God knew I couldn't raise boys with out turning them into pansies or wrapping them in bubble wrap, but that I could raise a tomboy just fine. So he gave me girls, once more girly than I know what to do with and the other a ninja princess.

I have been waiting for the day when it was my turn to pull something that was once alive out of a pocket as I do the laundry or to rescue a hapless slimey thing from a place it doesn't belong. You see, as a child my poor mother probably pulled innumerable once alive creatures from my pockets and I know I brought home a frog or two. And K is very much an animal lover and also a I-must-touch-this-icky-thing kind of kid, so it was only a matter of time. I was a bit surprised it took us eight years.

"K how did the frog get in the car?"

"I put him there." Ah.

"K you can't pick up frogs or any other animals. It could have been poisonous."

"But poisonous frogs are bright colored, this one is all brown. And he was by the garage door."

"It doesn't matter, and that's only in the rain forest. In Texas they don't always shout their poison status with bright colors."

I shook my head and opened the door to the back seat. And there Mr. Frog sat happy as can be on the seat belt buckle. With a small sigh, I scooped him up and put him in the palm of my hand. He was not a frog. He was a tiny little mud toad. I looked down at K.

"That's not a frog."

"Yes it is Mommy."

"No it's not."

"What is it?"

"A toad."

"What! How do you know, you only just looked at it."

"Well, I've held a few in my day and learned in school about the differences in frogs and toads." Which I then briefly explained.

"Wow Mommy, you sure know a lot of stuff. What kind of toad is it. Do toads hop like frogs? Can we keep it?"

"A tree or mud toad and some do, and no we can't"

She pouted for a moment and then brightened a bit. "So that means it's not poisonous."

"Not necessarily. It could still be, which is why we'll go wash our hands after we put him in the mud."

In all this petting and handling, the little toad, remained very calm and just sat on my hand. "K you may pet him once more and say good bye."

She did and I walked around our building and bent to put him in a nice patch of mud. I must have moved too fast for him then, because he finally peed on me. I said a couple words I won't repeat here.

"What happened Mommy, did he bite you?"

"No! He peed on me."

This was met with peels of laughter from both girls. We trooped up the stairs, washed our hands and headed back to the car. Once there, the inevitable came.

"Why did he pee on you?"

I started to explain, but once I said the word urine followed by another word she didn't know, acrid, she was off in her own little world. She really didn't want to hear about why frogs pee when they're scared.