Entry for January 30, 2008
When I woke up yesterday I said a totally different prayer than I have been saying. Instead of the whole litany that I ususally go through (Oh, Jesus, please let our house sell soon, let Charlie get into a good school in MO, help us find a suitable house down there, good friends, blah, blah, blah), I simply prayed, "Lord, Your will be done." Amazing what God can do when you get out of His way...
The last thing that needs to get done to make the house move-in ready was refinish the upsatirs hallway floor. Since we are leaving soon for MO, there's very little time to do this. Joe will be home for less than 12 hours before we leave, so he can't do it. So, I decide that I am the best candidate for the job. I put out a message on the homeschool Yahoo group asking for a palm sander. I get an overwhelming response. A good friend calls and volunteers her sander and her husband drops it off Tuesday morning. I thank him profusely. I look at it and try to make sense of it. I start getting intimidated. It comes with a case of attachments. I put that in a corner without opening it up. The phone rings. It is my friend, Kerry. She's coming over with a floor sander. Whoa! A floor sander! It sounds even more intimidating than the palm sander, but it also sounds faster!
Kerry backs into the parking lot next to my house and I go out to help her carry the sander in. This thing is HEAVY. Not "Oh, gee, this bag of groceries is heavy" heavy. More like "Oh, @#%* I am going to @#%* DIE!!!" heavy. We count to three then hoist it out of the trunk. She starts to laugh. Very contagious. I join in. Here we are balancing the sander between us and just roaring with laughter. We begin to shuffle down the sidewalk with the thing and then realize that it has wheels on the bottom. Sheepishly, we lower it and push it to the porch, then hoist it up and get it in the house. Now, for the stairs. I bust out laughing again. Kerry joins in and I tell her that we are like the mice in Cinderella trying to get the key up the stairs. "Stop making me laugh!" she laughs. We compose ourselves and I get on the step and start to pull, while she stays at the bottom and pushes. (Did I mention this thing was HEAVY???) Slowly we pull it up. I am grunting like Monica Seles. Finally we get it to the top. Somehow we feel as if this was an episode of I Love Lucy. I get the curious urge to drink Vitameatavegamin while stuffing candy in my mouth and stomping on grapes. But it passes. Ethel, uh, Kerry, shows me how to use the thing. I try it out while she is with me. We both marvel at it's effectiveness. Then Kerry goes home with the promise to come get it tomorrow.
The phone rings. It is another one of my good friends. She said she heard that I am sanding today and she's bringing over dinner. I start to protest and she said she knew I was going to do that and to stop it because she's bringing over dinner anyway. Now, I stop because this particular friend happens to be an excellent cook, so I take the offer.
I round the kids up. I explain to them that schoolwork must be done independently and they must either do it in their rooms or in the classroom, but they may NOT come into the hallway. I show them the sander and how it works, to satisfy their curiosity, then send them into exile.
About 2 hours later I am done with as much as I could do with the floor sander. I shut it off and lean against the wall, exhausted. Those things are hard to use!!! The phone rings. It's Kerry. I tell her I am done. She can't believe it. Neither can I. About an hour later she shows up to pick up the sander. Now for the challenge. We need to get the sander into her van. Here we go! Down was easier than up. We take it easily to her car. As we were lifting it off the ground into the trunk we both get another attack of the giggles. It gets stuck on the bumper. We laugh harder. Finally it goes in. Just as Kerry closes the trunk, my parents show up. They want to see the floor. They are incredulous. My Mom asks when I am going to get the rest done. "Right now," I tell her. I'm on a roll. She offers to stay and make sure the kids don't do anything harmful or illegal while I am sanding. They need to be downstairs because the palm sander doesn't have a bag for the sawdust and I don't want them breathing it in. Another hour later I am done. Wow! I am feeling pretty cocky right now. I may even go for my own show on HGTV: Desperation Remodeling on a Non-Existant Budget. What do you think? I could be the creative, free-spirit and Kerry can be the organized, tech-pro sidekick. Or, we could just be Lucy and Ethel.
I go and sit down on the couch. Ouch. Someone suggested I wear knee pads when doing the palm sanding and I don't remember that little nugget of advice until now, when my knees look like two lumps of ground beef. Hey, it's an occupational hazard when you are a skilled remodeler like me, I think to myself. My mother offers to vaccuum upstairs. I let her. When she finishes I thank her and she leaves. Several minutes later, dinner arrives hot and right to my door. God bless my dinner fairy! She made chili and corn bread and fruit salad. Oh, yum! We pray for all the people who helped us that day, then dig in. Genevieve has a head cold, so she just wants the fruit. I spoon some into a bowl for her. She peers in. "But, Mom, where's the salad?" In Genevieve's world, salad is synonymous with lettuce. I explain to her that fruit salad has no salad in it. This is acceptable to her and she polishes it off immediately, then requests more.
Dinner was excellent. There was almost no clean up involved and for some reason the kids are very tired, so I decide it's bedtime. By 9:00 the house is quiet and all are abed. Before I drift off, I remember to say a prayer of thanksgiving for the friends that God has given me. I also put in that I am confused as to why He is asking me to leave them and go down to MO, but I try not to dwell. He is smarter than me. He knows what He is doing. I know that we function as His hands here on earth. Today he used the hands of four generous women to help me through. Maybe in Missouri it will be my hands he uses to help someone else...
Entry for January 29, 2008
I am SO tired. Tell you all about it tomorrow...
Entry for January 25, 2008
I was so tired today. It was like anvils were attached to every appendage. I am so weighed down by the responsibilities of single parenting, selling the house, catching up because we are behind in school, etc., that it is taking it's toll on me physically and emotionally. My energy is gone. So, we did what we call "couch school." Everyone gets on the couch under a blanket and we do school on our laps. It is a cozy way to pass a cold winter morning.
When I realized that I was nodding off, I gave the kids a break and told them to play in the livingroom while I shut my eyes for a minute. They begin to plot and plan. They leave the room. They come back with supplies. There is a lot of activity. I get no true rest. Someone taps me on the shoulder. It is Noah with a small piece of cardboard. "We're doing a TV show, Mom. Here's your remote." The piece of cardboard was decorated with channel and volume buttons and a power button. I haul my sleepy body up into a semi-sitting position and press the piece of cardboard. "Click," I say. On the coffee table is a box with a rectangular hole cut into it. The Weather Channel is on. A small hand dressed in an old sock with a face on it appears in the cut-out "screen" and delivers the weather report.
Genevieve comes over and climbs up on my legs. She asks for the remote and says. "Click." The Children's Channel comes on. Three socked hands appear and announce that today's topic is the alphabet. The sock in the middle explains that the alphabet was invented by the Phoenicians, who were also called the Makers of Civilization because they were fisherman who travelled from port to port bringing the ideas from one culture to another. Genevieve is stone still, like she's having an apparition or something. It is amazing how kids are drawn to the TV, even a fake one. The sock trio sing the alphabet and have Genevieve guess some letters. She's having a ball.
After the Children's Channel we were treated to the Animal Channel where we learned that some cats, like the Scottish Fold, have folded ears. After the was the Myth Channel where we learned the difference between a Chinese dragon and a plain, mythological one. After this, TV is done for the day. Three heads appear on the screen. I am told that today's TV was brought to me by Bella, Noah and Angelina. We clap. Genevieve says, "Click." TV time is done.
We say the rosary afterward. Charlie comes home from school. The younger 4 kids go outside (briefly, because it is COLD), then have hot cocoa. We finish up school then eat dinner. Charlie initiates a game of chase with me while Genevieve watches. She stands off to the side clapping and laughing while the two of us collapse in a heap on the floor. The other children play with Legos for awhile and it's off to bed for everyone.
My afternoon TV watching sure perked up the day. Who needs a 60" plasma? Who needs Oprah? I have the best TV in town. Maybe even the world...
Entry for January 24, 2008
We had a doll hair mishap today. Isabella's beloved Elizabeth's hair somehow got melted. Bella is very distraught. I feel terrible. That doll is so precious to her. Her Nana makes handmade clothes for the doll and Bella dresses her in them all the time. I called the company to see if we could just get a replacement head instead of buying a new one. Noah says she needs a "complete headectomy."
Noah's birthday was yesterday. He's 11 now. He was my biggest baby at 9 lbs. 1 oz. He had jet black hair when he was born and it stuck straight up in a Mohawk. He looked like a Sumo wrestler. If you saw a baby picture of him, you'd never know it was the same child now. He has sandy colored hair and is thin, but athletic. No more Sumo wrestler.
Noah was born 6 years after Charlie. Charlie was a c-section and I wanted to do a VBAC with Noah and no epidural. I wanted to offer the labor up for a specific intention and so I prayed through the whole thing. I remember being at the hospital and being in labor and doing all my hoos and hees like a good Lamazer and all of a sudden I blacked out. When I came to I was on the floor hugging a metal box. Joe and the nurses flipped me back on the bed and all of a sudden I felt like I had to push. I managed to whisper "push" to Joe between hees and hoos.
Joe: I think my wife has to push.
Nurse: Impossible. We just checked her. She's at 7 cm. She has a way to go yet.
Me: Puuuusshhhh!
Joe: (breaking out into a cold sweat) "Ah! Go get the doctor!"
Nurse: But...
Joe: GO get the DOCTOR!!!
Nurse runs out, doctor runs in.
Doctor: Holy Crow! It's the head!
The head came out. That was the easy part. You know, they always make a big deal about the head. Now, I'm laying there thinking this and realizing that there are a pair of SHOULDERS that follow the head. No one ever mentions the shoulders. I decide I am not going to do it. Too big. Joe and the doctor are cheering me on. I try to push without really pushing. It doesn't work. I pray a Hail Mary. Somehow the strength comes to me. One huge push and here he is! The big red Sumo wrestler enters the world!
Doctor: WOW! I honestly did not think you could do this!
Me: Thanks for telling me AFTER I gave birth.
Noah was so big and I needed so many stitches that we achieved sort of a celebrity status in the maternity ward. Until two days later, when someone gave birth to a 10 lb. 11 oz. baby. Ouch...
******
We decided to head down to Smithville again in a couple of weeks. We seriously need some family time. At bedtime, I was telling Charlie this. He said, "Missouri, west, north." I explained that it is west, but it is south, not north. I continued to talk about the trip and he began moving away from me. Then he clamped his hand over my mouth. Coffee breath. I had downed a cup right before tucking him in. I apologized and moved away. He picked up the blanket and held it over my mouth. Oh, well. Payback for all those sardine kisses he's given me...
Entry for January 18, 2008
We were studying religion and one of the questions I asked Noah was, "Why shouldn't we place our faith in horse shoes, ouija boards or fortune tellers?" Noah answered that it is because it is the sin of superstition because it attributes power to a creature and not God. (He was correct) Then Angelina chimes in, "Yes, and it could be painful for the horse!"
OK, so I absolutely could NOT take it anymore. I looked like a Beatle. Something had to be done, so I gave myself a haircut. Yes, I did. It actually came out pretty good. I had picked up a texturizing scissors awhile back and that thing is a wonder. This is not the first time I have cut my own hair. Patience is definitely NOT one of my personal virtues. And thank goodness for hair putty. Spiky, messy hair doesn't reveal mistakes as much as perfectly coiffed hair does. That's why I opt for spiky and messy.
So, for those of you who e-mailed me that you were afraid of the shrub; the shrub is gone. But beware, she'll be back in about 6-8 weeks...
Thursday, May 7, 2009
12/26/07-1/12/08
Entry for January 12, 2008
Charlie was full of jokes today. Now, for those of you that don't know this, all the textbooks will tell you that people with autism are completely incapable of joking around. It has to do with something called The Theory of Mind. Apparently neurotypicals (people like you and me...well...you) have it and people with autism, or auties, as adults with autism like to be called, do not. Except Charlie. He has a good sense of humor-- always has.
I remember when he was about 7, he was eating fresh strawberries. He put one on the end of each finger, held up his red-tipped fingers and yelled, "Owieeeee!"
Yesterday he came home from school and was giggling. I asked him what was so funny and he said, "Snowman, inside!" That's his kind of joke. His latest is to tell me the name of a movie with the wrong distribution company. He will say, "Tom & Jerry, Disney!" and I will answer, "No way! That's WB!" And he falls into a fit of giggles. So, "The Little Mermaid, WB" and "An American Tail, Disney" are hysterical jokes as well.
He is also on a hair-cutting kick. Around Christmas, he cut all the front off his hair. He looked like a geek extraordinaire. I tried to fix it, because the thought of him going in public like that made me cringe. He wouldn't sit still. It came out really bad and I had to cover it up by putting lots of hair putty in his hair and messing it up. It was a few days before we were able to get him to a barber. He looks much better now.
Last night, I was having a conversation with Noah and all of a sudden his eyes grew as wide as saucers. I was scared to look behind me and then I hear an odd sound near my ear. Noah yells, "Mom! Watch out! Charlie is trying to cut your hair!" He actually had a lock of my hair in his hand and was opening and closing the scissors near my ear. Payback, maybe? Or maybe he's trying to tell me I look horrible. I really do. I look like I have some Australian brush on top of my head. It has been way too long since I got my haircut. No time. I'll go next Saturday, hopefully. In the meantime, if you see a small shrub driving a minivan around St. Charles, it's me.
Entry for January 10, 2008
Charlie turned 17 on Sunday. I cannot believe he is 17. Gone is the smooth baby face, replaced by some zits and facial hair. ((sigh)) Time is so fleeting. He has come a long way in 17 years. There was a time that the possibility that he may never speak was very real. He is such a fighter and he has such a zest for life that he has overcome so very much. I am very proud of him and tell him that often.
Charlie has also been the source of many, many hilarious moments for our family. All the kids are, actually, but Charlie always seems to add a twist...
It was the first day that Noah was in Safety Town and parents had to stay. Isabella was 3 at the time and Angelina was still an infant. I had Isabella on my lap as the director was talking to the parents. Something is not right. I sniff. I wince. I sniff again. "Why does your hair smell like pee?" I whisper. I can see from the look on Bella's face that she is clueless.
As soon as we get home I wash her hair. Then I try to figure out what's going on. Did she wet the bed? I check the sheets. They are fine. Hmmm. Hair doesn't just smell like pee for no reason. I think and think and I still can't come up with a reason. Finally the light bulb goes off over my head. I run to the bathroom and check the spray bottle I use to spritz her hair. Bella's hair was curly back then, so in the morning I would spray it with water and scrunch it to get the curls all bouncy. However, this day there was no water in there. It was pee. I sprayed my three-year-old's head with urine. What kind of mother am I? Well, I am Charlie's mother, too, and at that time Charlie was peeing in bottles. Didn't think he'd expand to spray bottles...
Several weeks before, we went to Mass and then planned on going to pick up some cold cuts for lunch, eating at home, then going to the Geneva Swedish Days Parade. We drove into Geneva to the store and saw that people were already lining up to see the parade, so we decided on an impromtu picnic instead. We put Bella and Angelina in the stroller, got some picnic blankets out of the trunk, bought some food and drinks and camped out to watch the parade. It was a hot day and Charlie wound up drinking 2 bottles of Snapple Iced Tea. The parade was loooong and after awhile he told me he had to use the bathroom. So we started packing up, but I noticed that he was pretty uncomfortable, so I went ahead to the car with Charlie, while Joe finished up and took the other 3 to meet us there.
When we got to the van, Charlie was visibly struggling to hold it in. I had an empty Snapple bottle, and no one was around to see, so I had him get in the van and go in the bottle. This was during the period of time when Charlie had to completely pull down his pants in order to go, which was why I told him to get in the van. He was standing between the front and middle seats and I held the bottle. I was too busy to realize that his naked bum was visible through the front windshield. He started to go and the bottle got more and more and more full until I began to panic and had visions of pee going over the top, down onto my hands and onto the seat. Both my and his Guardian Angels were working overtime because it stopped just at the top. Whew! As I was carefully screwing on the cap I hear Joe yelling, "Charlie! Noooooooooo!" He had come down the street and the view he got was Charlie in the van with his pants down! I popped my head out of the van and saw him racing frantically down the street pushing the double stroller with one hand and dragging Noah along with the other. I tell Joe it's all under control. The poor guy!
When we got home I disposed of the bottle and called it a day. About a half hour later Joe said to me, "AnnMarie, that is gross. Why didn't you throw out that bottle?" Huh? I told him I did. Then he said, "Then what's with the Snapple bottle on the kitchen counter?" Oh no!
That's right, Charlie went into the recycling bin and had gotten out a bottle and went in the bottle. It took a quite a few weeks to help him unlearn the bottle thing. We'd find bottles of pee all over the place-- even in the refrigerator. Needless to say, I avoided buying apple juice for quite some time.
Months after he got over the compulsion to pee in bottles, we took Charlie to the doctor, the reason escapes me. But, you guessed it, the doc wanted a urine sample. When we were in the bathroom to collect the sample Charlie shot me a look that clearly said, "You ask me to pee in the bottle. When I do, you say not to and I get in trouble, now you want me to pee in a cup? I think you are completely and totally insane." However, I am sure he was also thinking: "But I love you anyway."
Entry for December 30, 2007
Before Christmas, we cut off 14 inches of Angelina's hair. She had been growing it for Locks of Love. I haven't mailed it yet, because I have this weird aversion to going to the post office to mail anything. I just never seem to get there and the thing I am supposed to mail winds up collecting dust and eventually being donated to St. Vincent dePaul. I don't even buy stamps-- I order them from the postman. He brings them to my house (yes, you can do this at no charge). All my bills are automatically deducted. See? I avoid the post office at all costs. Why? I don't know. Nothing traumatic ever happened to me at the post office. Maybe I'm just lazy.
Anyway, this time I am glad I didn't send the hair because I heard from my hair stylist, Erika, that Locks of Love doesn't necessarily use the hair you send them. They sell the hair at their discretion. They also do not necessarily provide the wigs for free; they charge according to a sliding scale. And, most of the recipients are not childhood cancer patients, but people of all ages suffering from alopecia. Which is OK, except, when I told Angelina about my cousin, Janine, who died of leukemia as a child, she made the decision to donate her hair to someone like Janine. Both Angelina and I would like her hair to actually make it into a wig for a child who needs it. SO, I found another charity, called Little Princesses, that was started by the parents of a child who died from cancer. Every ponytail they receive gets used and all the wigs they provide are completely at no charge to the child or their family. It just sits better with me. For those of you who are interested, here is the link: http://www.littleprincesses.org.uk/donate/hair.aspx
Now, if I could just get to the post office...
Entry for December 28, 2007
I told the kids a joke at dinner: "How does Good King Wenceslas like his pizza? Deep and crisp and even." They didn't think it was as funny as I did, but then we started singing:
Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep and crisp and even;Brightly shone the moon that night,though the frost was cruelWhen a poor man came in sight,Gathering winter fuel.
and Angelina follows up with,
"Yankee Doodle keep it up!
Yankee Doodle Dandy
Mind the music and the steps
And with the girls be handy!"
HA! Try it! It absolutely fits!
Entry for December 26, 2007
As I write this, Fintan is at Children's Memorial receiving his new heart. Please say a prayer of thanksgiving for this Christmas miracle! And please pray for the family whose child died on Christmas Day and who, despite their grief, chose to gift Fintan with their child's heart.
+++++++++++++++++++++
Years ago, my childhood friend, Denise said to me, "AnnMarie, you can never just do something. With you, there's always a story attached to everything." Unfortunately, she was right.
Almost everything I ordered online this year got messed up. I ordered my in-laws a nice gift box of a variety of foods. It had about a dozen pears, some apples, candy, nuts and cookies. What they got was 3 dozen pears. I got my in-laws PEARS for Christmas. When I called the company to resolve the problem, I should have had them send a partridge.
Even stuff we received was messed up. About 2 weeks ago, Fr. Beekman, Angelina's Godfather, called to ask me her dress size. He always sends har a birthday gift, usually from Amazon.com, because he lives over an hour away and, being a priest, Christmas is his busy season, so we don't get to see him in person. Anyway, I am expecting a dress to arrive in the mail. Wednesday, I get a small package from Amazon. I thought that was odd, since he mentioned a dress and was about to toss it in a drawer to save it for her birthday (which is ON Christmas and that is a whole other story, which I will tell at another time), when common sense took over and I opened it. It was a Harry Potter DVD. Now, I know Fr. Beekman and I know he would never send a Harry Potter anything to anybody, so I am thinking maybe this was a mistake. I look at the return address. It is from Michael Pollack from Manhattan. Now, unless Angelina is getting on MySpace and chatting behind my back, I'm pretty sure we do not know this man. I plan to resolve the problem the next day, which is Thursday and we are getting carpeting installed in the LR and DR.
Thursday morning I get up early, finish getting ready for the installers, send the kids across the street to my parents' and exile myself to the kitchen. I can't get into any other part of the house except by going outside, around to the front door and back inside the house, so I make sure I have my jacket in the kitchen with me. I set out to straighten out the Harry problem. After 15 minutes searching on the website for a phone number, I find it and call Amazon. I explain that we received the DVD in error and ask if I can return it. The CSR is incredulous. Apparently this doesn't happen very often. He tells me he can't believe I didn't just keep it. Yeah, yeah, whatever. How can I get the dress? He can't help me. He needs an order number for the dress, which I don't have. I bet if he calls Michael Pollack of NY, NY, he would have the order number, probably the dress, too. So, ultimately, my honesty gets me nowhere.
I e-mail Fr. Beekman with the whole saga. He e-mails me right back. Here is what he wrote:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I bought her a Christmas dress! This is the work of the devil!!"
I crack up! Then the phone rings. It's Fr. B. He is not happy. He promises to call Amazon and straighten it out and get something else in the mail. I explain to him that he doesn't need to take all the trouble to do that and I will just explain to Angelina that he wanted to send a dress, but Amazon messed up. She's reasonable, she'll understand. He's having none of it, so I wish him luck and sign off.
Now I am stuck in the kitchen, with about 10 dining room chairs and a big box of books. Since there is just a small, L-shaped area in which I can maneuver, there's not much I can do. I go downstairs and throw in some laundry. I wash all the dishes. I drink some coffee. I clean my stove top. I call my friend Kerry and we chat for awhile while I scrub.
The doorbell rings. I throw on my jacket and head out through the snow to the front porch (WHY did I wear my CLOGS today???). It is another homeschool mom. Huh? Then I remember, she was supposed to stop by today and pick up some clothes I am giving away. She sees me approaching from the back yard and I can see the puzzled look on her face. I run upstairs to get the bag of clothes and then I come down and give it to her. For some reason I feel compelled to tell her all about my vendor problems. The story spills out like vomit and she politely listens. This poor woman, whom I have never met face-to-face before has instantly and involuntarily become my therapist. I realize what I am doing to her and let her escape.
I notice that the mail has come and I bring it around to the back door and into the kitchen. There is a box addressed to me. I open it and realize it is a gift I ordered online and had sent to my cousin for her new baby, except now it has arrived at my house. An expletive escapes from my mouth (hey! my kids are across the street, remember??). I need to call her and explain. I check her number in my phone book and, as I am dialing, I remember that she moved and this number may not be current. I hear the familiar "dee-dee-DEE! The number you have reached, yada, yada, yada..." and realize I am right. Darn! I will call information to get it. I dial 911. 911!!! AAARRGH! I hang up the phone! Then I dial 411 and get the number. Then the reality that I dialed 911 by mistake hits and I dial it again.
"911 Operator."
"Hi. I just dialed 911 by accident and wanted to tell you that I don't need any assistance."
"You dialed 911 by accident?!"
"Yes, it was accidental. Please don't send anyone to my house. I don't need any help." (and as I am telling her this I am thinking, maybe I DO)
She sighs. "What's your address?"
I give it to her and hang up. Then I call my cousin and leave an apologetic message.
Then the phone rings. It is Fr. B. "I'm on Randall Rd. I'll be there in 15 minutes." Wow! He went and purchased a dress and drove out here from Amboy to give it to Angelina! I explain to him that we are getting carpet installed and I can't answer the front door from inside, so he should ring the bell and I will come out the back and get him, then we will go across the street to where my kids are. I can hear his eyes rolling. "With you, some things never change," he sighs. Has he spoken to Denise, I wonder?
I finish cleaning the stovetop. It is SO shiny! I go and switch the laundry. Then I hear the doorbell. I throw on the jacket and head to the front door. It was nice to see an old friend standing there! We say our hellos and cross the street to my parents' house. He gives Angelina the dress. It is beautiful; a black, velour top with a red taffetta skirt with a black velour design on it. She tries it on and looks just like an angel. He has to go. Before he leaves, Fr. Beekman gives us all his priestly blessing.
The carpet isn't quite done, so I leave the kids and go back across the street, to my small, L-shaped patch of kitchen. I make more coffee while I am on hold with the vendor that messed up my cousin's gift. After 20 minutes I just start pressing buttons. Hint: pressing "00" will get you a live person. That fiasco gets resolved. After I hang up, the carpet is done. It looks good. Hope the new owner appreciates this. The carpet people leave and the kids come home and then we all work to put things back on tables and shelves and in their rightful place. I make a quick dinner and then it was time for the Little Flower Buds meeting. It was our turn to host. The meeting was very nice. We put together a box of toiletries for a local homeless shelter and made cards to go with it. We ate cupcakes and talked about St. Jane Frances de Chantal. Then the girls played while the parents chatted a bit. It was a very pleasant evening.
That night, after the kids were in bed, I was the most tired I have ever been without having just given birth. As I lay in bed I thought that, although it was a crazy day; no policeman had come to the house, my stovetop was as shiny as ever, there was brand new carpeting in the LR and DR, I got to see an old friend and my family had received a priestly blessing. And then I chuckled. Denise is right; there is always a story, but it usually has a pretty good ending.
Charlie was full of jokes today. Now, for those of you that don't know this, all the textbooks will tell you that people with autism are completely incapable of joking around. It has to do with something called The Theory of Mind. Apparently neurotypicals (people like you and me...well...you) have it and people with autism, or auties, as adults with autism like to be called, do not. Except Charlie. He has a good sense of humor-- always has.
I remember when he was about 7, he was eating fresh strawberries. He put one on the end of each finger, held up his red-tipped fingers and yelled, "Owieeeee!"
Yesterday he came home from school and was giggling. I asked him what was so funny and he said, "Snowman, inside!" That's his kind of joke. His latest is to tell me the name of a movie with the wrong distribution company. He will say, "Tom & Jerry, Disney!" and I will answer, "No way! That's WB!" And he falls into a fit of giggles. So, "The Little Mermaid, WB" and "An American Tail, Disney" are hysterical jokes as well.
He is also on a hair-cutting kick. Around Christmas, he cut all the front off his hair. He looked like a geek extraordinaire. I tried to fix it, because the thought of him going in public like that made me cringe. He wouldn't sit still. It came out really bad and I had to cover it up by putting lots of hair putty in his hair and messing it up. It was a few days before we were able to get him to a barber. He looks much better now.
Last night, I was having a conversation with Noah and all of a sudden his eyes grew as wide as saucers. I was scared to look behind me and then I hear an odd sound near my ear. Noah yells, "Mom! Watch out! Charlie is trying to cut your hair!" He actually had a lock of my hair in his hand and was opening and closing the scissors near my ear. Payback, maybe? Or maybe he's trying to tell me I look horrible. I really do. I look like I have some Australian brush on top of my head. It has been way too long since I got my haircut. No time. I'll go next Saturday, hopefully. In the meantime, if you see a small shrub driving a minivan around St. Charles, it's me.
Entry for January 10, 2008
Charlie turned 17 on Sunday. I cannot believe he is 17. Gone is the smooth baby face, replaced by some zits and facial hair. ((sigh)) Time is so fleeting. He has come a long way in 17 years. There was a time that the possibility that he may never speak was very real. He is such a fighter and he has such a zest for life that he has overcome so very much. I am very proud of him and tell him that often.
Charlie has also been the source of many, many hilarious moments for our family. All the kids are, actually, but Charlie always seems to add a twist...
It was the first day that Noah was in Safety Town and parents had to stay. Isabella was 3 at the time and Angelina was still an infant. I had Isabella on my lap as the director was talking to the parents. Something is not right. I sniff. I wince. I sniff again. "Why does your hair smell like pee?" I whisper. I can see from the look on Bella's face that she is clueless.
As soon as we get home I wash her hair. Then I try to figure out what's going on. Did she wet the bed? I check the sheets. They are fine. Hmmm. Hair doesn't just smell like pee for no reason. I think and think and I still can't come up with a reason. Finally the light bulb goes off over my head. I run to the bathroom and check the spray bottle I use to spritz her hair. Bella's hair was curly back then, so in the morning I would spray it with water and scrunch it to get the curls all bouncy. However, this day there was no water in there. It was pee. I sprayed my three-year-old's head with urine. What kind of mother am I? Well, I am Charlie's mother, too, and at that time Charlie was peeing in bottles. Didn't think he'd expand to spray bottles...
Several weeks before, we went to Mass and then planned on going to pick up some cold cuts for lunch, eating at home, then going to the Geneva Swedish Days Parade. We drove into Geneva to the store and saw that people were already lining up to see the parade, so we decided on an impromtu picnic instead. We put Bella and Angelina in the stroller, got some picnic blankets out of the trunk, bought some food and drinks and camped out to watch the parade. It was a hot day and Charlie wound up drinking 2 bottles of Snapple Iced Tea. The parade was loooong and after awhile he told me he had to use the bathroom. So we started packing up, but I noticed that he was pretty uncomfortable, so I went ahead to the car with Charlie, while Joe finished up and took the other 3 to meet us there.
When we got to the van, Charlie was visibly struggling to hold it in. I had an empty Snapple bottle, and no one was around to see, so I had him get in the van and go in the bottle. This was during the period of time when Charlie had to completely pull down his pants in order to go, which was why I told him to get in the van. He was standing between the front and middle seats and I held the bottle. I was too busy to realize that his naked bum was visible through the front windshield. He started to go and the bottle got more and more and more full until I began to panic and had visions of pee going over the top, down onto my hands and onto the seat. Both my and his Guardian Angels were working overtime because it stopped just at the top. Whew! As I was carefully screwing on the cap I hear Joe yelling, "Charlie! Noooooooooo!" He had come down the street and the view he got was Charlie in the van with his pants down! I popped my head out of the van and saw him racing frantically down the street pushing the double stroller with one hand and dragging Noah along with the other. I tell Joe it's all under control. The poor guy!
When we got home I disposed of the bottle and called it a day. About a half hour later Joe said to me, "AnnMarie, that is gross. Why didn't you throw out that bottle?" Huh? I told him I did. Then he said, "Then what's with the Snapple bottle on the kitchen counter?" Oh no!
That's right, Charlie went into the recycling bin and had gotten out a bottle and went in the bottle. It took a quite a few weeks to help him unlearn the bottle thing. We'd find bottles of pee all over the place-- even in the refrigerator. Needless to say, I avoided buying apple juice for quite some time.
Months after he got over the compulsion to pee in bottles, we took Charlie to the doctor, the reason escapes me. But, you guessed it, the doc wanted a urine sample. When we were in the bathroom to collect the sample Charlie shot me a look that clearly said, "You ask me to pee in the bottle. When I do, you say not to and I get in trouble, now you want me to pee in a cup? I think you are completely and totally insane." However, I am sure he was also thinking: "But I love you anyway."
Entry for December 30, 2007
Before Christmas, we cut off 14 inches of Angelina's hair. She had been growing it for Locks of Love. I haven't mailed it yet, because I have this weird aversion to going to the post office to mail anything. I just never seem to get there and the thing I am supposed to mail winds up collecting dust and eventually being donated to St. Vincent dePaul. I don't even buy stamps-- I order them from the postman. He brings them to my house (yes, you can do this at no charge). All my bills are automatically deducted. See? I avoid the post office at all costs. Why? I don't know. Nothing traumatic ever happened to me at the post office. Maybe I'm just lazy.
Anyway, this time I am glad I didn't send the hair because I heard from my hair stylist, Erika, that Locks of Love doesn't necessarily use the hair you send them. They sell the hair at their discretion. They also do not necessarily provide the wigs for free; they charge according to a sliding scale. And, most of the recipients are not childhood cancer patients, but people of all ages suffering from alopecia. Which is OK, except, when I told Angelina about my cousin, Janine, who died of leukemia as a child, she made the decision to donate her hair to someone like Janine. Both Angelina and I would like her hair to actually make it into a wig for a child who needs it. SO, I found another charity, called Little Princesses, that was started by the parents of a child who died from cancer. Every ponytail they receive gets used and all the wigs they provide are completely at no charge to the child or their family. It just sits better with me. For those of you who are interested, here is the link: http://www.littleprincesses.org.uk/donate/hair.aspx
Now, if I could just get to the post office...
Entry for December 28, 2007
I told the kids a joke at dinner: "How does Good King Wenceslas like his pizza? Deep and crisp and even." They didn't think it was as funny as I did, but then we started singing:
Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep and crisp and even;Brightly shone the moon that night,though the frost was cruelWhen a poor man came in sight,Gathering winter fuel.
and Angelina follows up with,
"Yankee Doodle keep it up!
Yankee Doodle Dandy
Mind the music and the steps
And with the girls be handy!"
HA! Try it! It absolutely fits!
Entry for December 26, 2007
As I write this, Fintan is at Children's Memorial receiving his new heart. Please say a prayer of thanksgiving for this Christmas miracle! And please pray for the family whose child died on Christmas Day and who, despite their grief, chose to gift Fintan with their child's heart.
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Years ago, my childhood friend, Denise said to me, "AnnMarie, you can never just do something. With you, there's always a story attached to everything." Unfortunately, she was right.
Almost everything I ordered online this year got messed up. I ordered my in-laws a nice gift box of a variety of foods. It had about a dozen pears, some apples, candy, nuts and cookies. What they got was 3 dozen pears. I got my in-laws PEARS for Christmas. When I called the company to resolve the problem, I should have had them send a partridge.
Even stuff we received was messed up. About 2 weeks ago, Fr. Beekman, Angelina's Godfather, called to ask me her dress size. He always sends har a birthday gift, usually from Amazon.com, because he lives over an hour away and, being a priest, Christmas is his busy season, so we don't get to see him in person. Anyway, I am expecting a dress to arrive in the mail. Wednesday, I get a small package from Amazon. I thought that was odd, since he mentioned a dress and was about to toss it in a drawer to save it for her birthday (which is ON Christmas and that is a whole other story, which I will tell at another time), when common sense took over and I opened it. It was a Harry Potter DVD. Now, I know Fr. Beekman and I know he would never send a Harry Potter anything to anybody, so I am thinking maybe this was a mistake. I look at the return address. It is from Michael Pollack from Manhattan. Now, unless Angelina is getting on MySpace and chatting behind my back, I'm pretty sure we do not know this man. I plan to resolve the problem the next day, which is Thursday and we are getting carpeting installed in the LR and DR.
Thursday morning I get up early, finish getting ready for the installers, send the kids across the street to my parents' and exile myself to the kitchen. I can't get into any other part of the house except by going outside, around to the front door and back inside the house, so I make sure I have my jacket in the kitchen with me. I set out to straighten out the Harry problem. After 15 minutes searching on the website for a phone number, I find it and call Amazon. I explain that we received the DVD in error and ask if I can return it. The CSR is incredulous. Apparently this doesn't happen very often. He tells me he can't believe I didn't just keep it. Yeah, yeah, whatever. How can I get the dress? He can't help me. He needs an order number for the dress, which I don't have. I bet if he calls Michael Pollack of NY, NY, he would have the order number, probably the dress, too. So, ultimately, my honesty gets me nowhere.
I e-mail Fr. Beekman with the whole saga. He e-mails me right back. Here is what he wrote:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I bought her a Christmas dress! This is the work of the devil!!"
I crack up! Then the phone rings. It's Fr. B. He is not happy. He promises to call Amazon and straighten it out and get something else in the mail. I explain to him that he doesn't need to take all the trouble to do that and I will just explain to Angelina that he wanted to send a dress, but Amazon messed up. She's reasonable, she'll understand. He's having none of it, so I wish him luck and sign off.
Now I am stuck in the kitchen, with about 10 dining room chairs and a big box of books. Since there is just a small, L-shaped area in which I can maneuver, there's not much I can do. I go downstairs and throw in some laundry. I wash all the dishes. I drink some coffee. I clean my stove top. I call my friend Kerry and we chat for awhile while I scrub.
The doorbell rings. I throw on my jacket and head out through the snow to the front porch (WHY did I wear my CLOGS today???). It is another homeschool mom. Huh? Then I remember, she was supposed to stop by today and pick up some clothes I am giving away. She sees me approaching from the back yard and I can see the puzzled look on her face. I run upstairs to get the bag of clothes and then I come down and give it to her. For some reason I feel compelled to tell her all about my vendor problems. The story spills out like vomit and she politely listens. This poor woman, whom I have never met face-to-face before has instantly and involuntarily become my therapist. I realize what I am doing to her and let her escape.
I notice that the mail has come and I bring it around to the back door and into the kitchen. There is a box addressed to me. I open it and realize it is a gift I ordered online and had sent to my cousin for her new baby, except now it has arrived at my house. An expletive escapes from my mouth (hey! my kids are across the street, remember??). I need to call her and explain. I check her number in my phone book and, as I am dialing, I remember that she moved and this number may not be current. I hear the familiar "dee-dee-DEE! The number you have reached, yada, yada, yada..." and realize I am right. Darn! I will call information to get it. I dial 911. 911!!! AAARRGH! I hang up the phone! Then I dial 411 and get the number. Then the reality that I dialed 911 by mistake hits and I dial it again.
"911 Operator."
"Hi. I just dialed 911 by accident and wanted to tell you that I don't need any assistance."
"You dialed 911 by accident?!"
"Yes, it was accidental. Please don't send anyone to my house. I don't need any help." (and as I am telling her this I am thinking, maybe I DO)
She sighs. "What's your address?"
I give it to her and hang up. Then I call my cousin and leave an apologetic message.
Then the phone rings. It is Fr. B. "I'm on Randall Rd. I'll be there in 15 minutes." Wow! He went and purchased a dress and drove out here from Amboy to give it to Angelina! I explain to him that we are getting carpet installed and I can't answer the front door from inside, so he should ring the bell and I will come out the back and get him, then we will go across the street to where my kids are. I can hear his eyes rolling. "With you, some things never change," he sighs. Has he spoken to Denise, I wonder?
I finish cleaning the stovetop. It is SO shiny! I go and switch the laundry. Then I hear the doorbell. I throw on the jacket and head to the front door. It was nice to see an old friend standing there! We say our hellos and cross the street to my parents' house. He gives Angelina the dress. It is beautiful; a black, velour top with a red taffetta skirt with a black velour design on it. She tries it on and looks just like an angel. He has to go. Before he leaves, Fr. Beekman gives us all his priestly blessing.
The carpet isn't quite done, so I leave the kids and go back across the street, to my small, L-shaped patch of kitchen. I make more coffee while I am on hold with the vendor that messed up my cousin's gift. After 20 minutes I just start pressing buttons. Hint: pressing "00" will get you a live person. That fiasco gets resolved. After I hang up, the carpet is done. It looks good. Hope the new owner appreciates this. The carpet people leave and the kids come home and then we all work to put things back on tables and shelves and in their rightful place. I make a quick dinner and then it was time for the Little Flower Buds meeting. It was our turn to host. The meeting was very nice. We put together a box of toiletries for a local homeless shelter and made cards to go with it. We ate cupcakes and talked about St. Jane Frances de Chantal. Then the girls played while the parents chatted a bit. It was a very pleasant evening.
That night, after the kids were in bed, I was the most tired I have ever been without having just given birth. As I lay in bed I thought that, although it was a crazy day; no policeman had come to the house, my stovetop was as shiny as ever, there was brand new carpeting in the LR and DR, I got to see an old friend and my family had received a priestly blessing. And then I chuckled. Denise is right; there is always a story, but it usually has a pretty good ending.
11/05/07-12/13/07
Entry for December 13, 2007
I gave Noah a haircut today. I cut the back, and was getting rid of all those little hairs when he starts yelling. "Ah! Ooooooooo! Owowowowowowow! Mom! What are you DOING?!" (Noah and even the slightest hint of discomfort do not mix)
ME: "I'm clipping the little hairs on the back of your neck."
NOAH: "Don't DO that! I might NEED those!"
ME: "Why?"
NOAH: "If you cut them all off, how do I tell if I'm scared?"
Entry for December 12, 2007
It is such a pain to have the house on the market. You never know when they'll call for a showing, so the house pretty much has to be perfect all the time. Unfortunately, I forgot this fact until about an hour before Mass on Sunday. Let me preface this by saying that 5 of us had the stomach flu on Thursday and Friday, so nothing got done, except the making of a lot of dirty laundry, which I am always behind on, anyway. Saturday was spent recuperating and disinfecting everything.
So I am lounging in my jammies, putting off getting into the shower till the last minute and suddenly it hits me, the house is a MESS!!! Oh no! I flip out and start barking orders at everyone. They freak and start to scatter. Joe looks at me as if I have lost my mind (a look he uses often). "We might get a showing while we're at Mass!! Hurry!! Clean! Pick things up! QUICKLY!!!!!" All of a sudden they are gone. I am running around grabbing stuff, doing what my friend Denise's husband calls a "cheap clean," which means you just make it look that way; and I thankfully realize that Joe has them all upstairs to dress and pick up rooms. But I am downstairs getting all worked up and thinking that at this moment it would be really nice to be Elastigirl.
Finally, it is passable. I go into the bathroom to take my shower, which I REALLY need now. I open the bottom door of the closet to get a towel and... CRASH!!!! The top door comes flying open and EVERYTHING-- all the toiletries, hair stuff, etc. cascades out onto the floor. I must have screamed, because Joe was at the door asking if I am OK. I tell him I am. But I'm not. I am naked, standing in my own personal sea of toiletries and Mass starts in about 20 minutes. I take the fastest shower ever and tell Joe to put the shelves back and I'll take care of the rest. He does, then loads the kids in the car. I begin to put everything away. WHY do I have sunblock from 2001? Do I really need 8 half-used deodorants? Hey! Who has been using up my good body scrub from Bath & Body Works??? I throw most of it away and let myself feel guilty for not recycling for about 20 seconds. Then I run through the house grabbing what we missed the first time.
As I walk out the door Bella yells from the car, "Mom! Look! A hawk killed a small bird on our path and ate it! You can still see the blood and feathers and stuff!" {{{sigh}}} Some things are just beyond your control...
Of course we did NOT get a showing that day, but, darn, the house looked good!
I tacked up a poem at the entrance of our house to warn people in case I miss something and they are there for a showing. Perhaps it will warn them/help them understand/make them chuckle. Here it is:
We have five children and we must confess, that quite often our house is a mess!
So look around, but close your eyes if you must, to laundry, crumbs, fingerprints, dust.
Please remember as you tour our dwelling, that it's the house, not the dust that we're selling!
Entry for December 01, 2007
Everyone has been asking when I am going to update the blog. Sorry, guys. It has just been nonstop around here. We had the fundraiser on November 16th for the Schiltz family and it was a big success! We raised enough to help them out for a few months and we fed over 700 people! Please continue your prayers for Finn to get a heart...
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I am so tired, I don't even know why I am sitting here at the computer. We went to Smithville, MO for a week and got back about 2:00 this morning, so I am zonked.
Car rides are always interesting, especially with 5 kids. It takes a little over 7 hours to get from St. Charles, IL to Smithville, MO. Well, if you don't stop. With 5 kids, you stop. The trip always starts the same way. I get the lecture from Joe: "Do not give the children anything to eat or drink. I am not stopping till we get there." In this case, there was Hannibal, MO, Mark Twain's boyhood hometown. We thought it would be nice to check it out, since Noah and Bella are avid readers and Noah, especially, has read lots of Mark Twain. So Joe's intentions were to drive for 5 hours straight till we hit the Mississippi and Hannibal.
The ride started out nicely. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, the world was happy. Five minutes later Isabella and Genevieve are having a fistfight in the back seat. Joe starts yelling at them. Charlie gets upset because Joe is yelling and squeezes Noah. Noah cries. Angelina begins to whine that she is thirsty. I burst out laughing. Joe glares at me. I can't help it. All I can think of is that outside the car it's so peaceful and we are driving at 70, er, 55 miles per hour and it is like complete chaos on wheels. That's our family.
After a couple of bathroom breaks, a snack (eaten in the car) and an endless medley of Hannah Montana songs courtesy of Genevieve, we arrive in Hannibal. It is much later than we were planning on getting there. The sun is setting and the attractions are closed. Oh, well, we can take a walk around after dinner. We find the Mark Twain Diner (seriously, you expected a different name?) and get a table. The waitress informs us that there is a buffet. We check it out. It is completely repulsive. There are trays of breaded lumps of unidentifiable food and various veggies and salad fixings. After careful examination, we realize that there is fried chicken, popcorn shrimp, whole (I mean with the fins and head) fried catfish and frogs legs. I had never seen frogs legs as a food before. They look just like they do on the frog, except breaded. Ugh, icky squishy frogs, breaded and fried. I try to act natural and as if I am not completely grossed out. So, I ask the kids if anyone is interested in having the buffet. The are ecstatic! They all want the buffet, except Angelina, who always waits until the waitress gets annoyed because she's taking too long to order. Eventually, she decides on a bowl of chili. Good girl.
Charlie immediately heads for the buffet. He puts a catfish and about seven frogs legs in his dish, sits down and gets to work. In about a minute there is a catfish skeleton in his dish. The waitress brings my meal and I am busy eating when I hear Bella say, "Charlie, you can't eat the spine! Put it down!" She looks at me and makes a yucky face. I make a face back at her that says, "I don't care if you think it is gross, he is using good manners and eating food that HE likes to eat." I have faces for many occasions. I use that one a lot, though. Then I tap Charlie on the shoulder and quietly remind him that, no matter how pleasantly crunchy they are, we shouldn't eat bones. A couple of minutes later I furtively glance over to see how he is making out with the frogs legs. I don't think he likes them as much as the catfish; he only ate the little flipper-feet off of them. I can't take it anymore. I go up and get him a dish piled with normal, non-squishy popcorn shrimp. He eats it all.
After dinner we make sure everyone uses the bathroom to ward off disaster and we head out the door. On the way out Noah sees that they have a jar of Andes mints for 5 cents each. He politely asks for a quarter and gives it to the guy behind the counter, then gives each one of his siblings the candy before taking his own. Good boy.
It was dark out, but the weather was mild, so we had our own twilight tour of Hannibal. We saw Mark Twain's boyhood home, Becky Thatcher's house and Cardiff Hill. The kids were happy with that, so we piled into the car and headed west. Noah starts saying, "We're goin' west! We're goin' west on the wagon train!" He is a great mimic and he sounds like a leathery old prospector. We all crack up. Ten minutes later Noah and Bella are fighting and Angelina is begging for a snack, because she is SOOOO hungry. Charlie yells, "It's too loud!" I giggle. Joe glares. We're on the road.
The week in Smithville was good. We stayed in a house that Joe's bosses are letting us live in for several months after we sell our own. This way we don't have to scramble to buy a house right away. It is very generous of them. The kids enjoyed the fact that it was almost completely empty, so they did a lot of running and jumping. There was nothing to sit on, because it is unfurnished. Joe brought in the patio set, so the kids had places to sit at meals. The kids enjoyed looking around and deciding who was to go in which bedroom when we move. We went and got our library cards at the Smithville library, so the kids had lots of books to read. We also went to Arthur Bryant's and got a taste of real Kansas City Barbecue. Charlie, of course, loved the ribs, but the other kids liked the burnt ends best. By the end of the week, we had decided that we liked it, but that we would like it even more with our own furniture. Or ANY furniture, for that matter.
The return trip was basically a replay of the trip there, without the stop in Hannibal. Except we listened to Tony Bennet and Frank Sinatra most of the way home. Nothing like snapping along with "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" to get you excited about the prospect of being in a car for 7 hours. When the kids got tired, we listened to an audio book; Madeleine L'Engle's A Swiftly Tilting Planet. Noah, Bella and I love L'Engle's stories. Joe hates them. It was torture for him to listen to the audiobook, but he made the sacrifice for his loved ones. What a guy!
We got home safely. No bodily fluids were spilled on the way, there was minimal bickering and everyone kept their clothes on. All in all, a good trip, I'd say.
Entry for November 09, 2007
Today we and some other homeschoolers headed over to the VFW post, where we met with two war veterans; one from WWII and one from Afghanistan. I have never seen so many boys in camo clothes. But, more importantly, I have never, ever, seen so many children sit quietly for such a long period of time. They were absolutely mesmerized.
Noah was the most still and quiet I have ever seen him. Anyone who knows Noah knows that his need to talk is equal to his need for oxygen. Well, at one point, one of the vets was describing his stint in Saudi Arabia and talking about what it is like to sleep in a foxhole with scorpions and other insects for months at a time. Noah couldn't hold it in any longer. He raises his hand and says, "Actually, the scorpion is an arachnid." Noah-- always good for a bit of science trivia!
Those vets were amazing. They were there for almost 3 hours talking and answering questions. We truly have NO IDEA what these guys endure for us. I have always felt like I was patriotic and support the vets, but now I realize what a slacker I am. Get involved. Help these guys. They give everything and get very little in return. A good place to start is www.woundedheroesfund.net Check it out.
Anyway, my hubby set this up, so I went early with the kids and brought some snacks and coffee. Genevieve played nicely with her little friend Cecelia. But apparently she drank one too many juice pouches, because, during Q & A time, Noah informed me that Genevieve was in the girls' bathroom and her tights were wet (now that I think of it, how did HE know this?!). So I go in there and, lo and behold, she is standing in a puddle of pee. I am so thankful she had the good sense to remove her boots before the pee came out. I throw out the tights and underwear and clean her up as best I can, but nothing can change the fact that I've got a pantyless toddler walking around. To make matters worse, I can't just leave, because I need to stay and clean up. So I'm stuck there with little Miss Au Naturelle (not sure if I spelled that correctly-- the French is a bit rusty) until everyone else leaves.
A few minutes after we get out of the bathroom she has to go again. I take her in and she's doing a dance while I put the paper down (didn't she just go??). I put her on the toilet and-- I didn't know girls were even capable of this-- she pees OUT of the toilet onto my shoe. Right then and there, any problems with pride that I have had went out the window. I am now a person that people take aim and pee at. How low can you go?
Then, of course, on the way home, we had the requisite tantrum. Seriously, what's a day without a tantrum? My parents happened to stop by just as I was hauling the kicking, flailing child into the house. While they were visiting she writhed on the floor making guttural sounds and then removed all her clothes. I think my parents were scared, because I heard my father say, "C'mon, let's get out of here," to my mom. Genevieve eventually calmed down-- she always does. After the tantrums she is the sweetest child in the world. Which leads me to believe that my daughter has an evil twin. (What, you think this is a bad theory? Ever watch "I Dream of Jeannie?" Enough said.) If I could just figure out how she's getting in the house, I could end the scourge of tantrums.
Later in the day, my mother called and said she would come sit with the kids while I went out to pick up the pizza I ordered for dinner. Wahoo! I can pick up the pizza BY MYSELF!! Thank God for small favors!
OK, so speaking of thanking God for favors I'm going to get totally serious about something. As much as I poke fun at Genevieve's tantrums, I can be thankful for them, because the truth is, she is a healthy child. Friends of ours have not been so fortunate. Mark and Gina Schiltz have a little boy, Fintan Patrick, that needs a heart in order to survive. Mark has taken a leave of absence from his job to be with his family and help with the burden of traveling back and forth to Chicago, where Finn is at Children's Memorial as they await news of a heart for Finn. Some friends and I have organized a fundraiser for them this Friday, November 16th at the VFW on Cedar and N. 3rd St. in St. Charles, IL, from 5-9 p.m. It's a pasta dinner and a silent auction. If you can make it, please go. If you can't but want to help, here is a way to do that:
Make check payable to: The Fintan Patrick Schiltz Fund
Be sure to include the account number on your check: Account # 4500232949 Mail checks to: Remittance Processing Dept. Charter One Bank PO Box 42006 Providence, RI 02940-2006
To read more about Fintan and for pictures, see his CarePage at: http://www.carepages.com/ServeCarePage?cpn=MightyFinn452&extrefid=tlcinvite
And, if you do go on Friday, you'll get to meet me. I'll be the one with the screaming toddler...
Entry for November 05, 2007
Charlie had a great morning today. I have been giving him 2 soft gels of fish oil every day in addition to his other vitamins and I think it's helping him socially (besides, he loves fish so much, why not add more to his diet?).
Anyway, I go in his room to wake him up and I hear, "Takin' a shower," from under the comforter. I tell him that it is, indeed, shower time and he scoops up the clothes we laid out last night, except no socks because I have a huge laundry basket full of clean socks that I am hoping we use up before I have to actually pair them and put them away. I hate doing that almost as much as cleaning the toilet. So, I will get him the socks out of the basket when we get downstairs. He notices there are no socks and says, "Socks, please," so I explain to him about my aversion to socks and he listens as we walk downstairs, then he sighs and says, "It's Monday." I sigh, too.
Before he gets in the shower we need to shave because Charlie is starting to look like a parolee with the scruff on his face. So I tell him to put warm water on his face and he does, then I put the shaving cream in his hand and he rubs it on. He is careful to avoid his lips. The first time we shaved, he tried to shave his lips. I had to tell him not to shave his lips. Then I got to thinking, "I wonder, in the history of man, how many times the sentence 'Don't shave your lips,' has been uttered aloud." Not many, I'd wager. But I digress...
I start to shave him because we are pressed for time and he gets annoyed at me because he is so sure I am going to mess up and nick him. Finally he can't take it anymore and pushes me away and rinses the rest of the shaving cream off, while saying, "It's all gone. It's very all gone." All right, kiddo!
On the way out of the house, he stopped and picked up the newspaper and handed it to me. Excellent! When he gets on the bus, though, he doesn't wave. That was a big bummer. Usually he will wave and I can read his lips saying, "Bye, Mom." It is always a good day when Charlie waves.
Anyone who knows Charlie knows he is a man of little words. But he can sure say a lot in just a few words. Years ago, he was saying something that sounded like "missy kwilla." It dawned on me that he would only say it when I lost it and was yelling at someone. Then, one time, in the middle of the night it came to me. He is a big "101 Dalmatians" aficionado and what he was actually saying was, "Must be Cruella." I must be really scary when I'm mad.
Lately, when I call him to come downstairs for something he has been saying, "Keep your pants on!" Hysterical. Bella says it's from Rock-A-Doodle. Who cares? He's using it correctly!
Once, I knew a mom of a boy who had autism. He was in Charlie's preschool class. I saw her at school one day and she was all excited because her son had said his first word. "Wow!" I said, "That's great! What was his first word?" "@&%*," she replied. What do you say to that?
Sometimes, when I tell Charlie to sit down, he will say, "Shut up and sit down." This makes me feel terrible.
Me: "I didn't say, 'Shut up and sit down, Charlie, I just said, 'Sit down.'"
Charlie: "Shut up and sit down!"
Me: "OK, I did say it that time, but just to tell you that I didn't say it. I'm not telling you to shut up, just sit down. I wouldn't tell you to shut up."
Charlie: "SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!!"
Me: (sitting down) "OK."
I gave Noah a haircut today. I cut the back, and was getting rid of all those little hairs when he starts yelling. "Ah! Ooooooooo! Owowowowowowow! Mom! What are you DOING?!" (Noah and even the slightest hint of discomfort do not mix)
ME: "I'm clipping the little hairs on the back of your neck."
NOAH: "Don't DO that! I might NEED those!"
ME: "Why?"
NOAH: "If you cut them all off, how do I tell if I'm scared?"
Entry for December 12, 2007
It is such a pain to have the house on the market. You never know when they'll call for a showing, so the house pretty much has to be perfect all the time. Unfortunately, I forgot this fact until about an hour before Mass on Sunday. Let me preface this by saying that 5 of us had the stomach flu on Thursday and Friday, so nothing got done, except the making of a lot of dirty laundry, which I am always behind on, anyway. Saturday was spent recuperating and disinfecting everything.
So I am lounging in my jammies, putting off getting into the shower till the last minute and suddenly it hits me, the house is a MESS!!! Oh no! I flip out and start barking orders at everyone. They freak and start to scatter. Joe looks at me as if I have lost my mind (a look he uses often). "We might get a showing while we're at Mass!! Hurry!! Clean! Pick things up! QUICKLY!!!!!" All of a sudden they are gone. I am running around grabbing stuff, doing what my friend Denise's husband calls a "cheap clean," which means you just make it look that way; and I thankfully realize that Joe has them all upstairs to dress and pick up rooms. But I am downstairs getting all worked up and thinking that at this moment it would be really nice to be Elastigirl.
Finally, it is passable. I go into the bathroom to take my shower, which I REALLY need now. I open the bottom door of the closet to get a towel and... CRASH!!!! The top door comes flying open and EVERYTHING-- all the toiletries, hair stuff, etc. cascades out onto the floor. I must have screamed, because Joe was at the door asking if I am OK. I tell him I am. But I'm not. I am naked, standing in my own personal sea of toiletries and Mass starts in about 20 minutes. I take the fastest shower ever and tell Joe to put the shelves back and I'll take care of the rest. He does, then loads the kids in the car. I begin to put everything away. WHY do I have sunblock from 2001? Do I really need 8 half-used deodorants? Hey! Who has been using up my good body scrub from Bath & Body Works??? I throw most of it away and let myself feel guilty for not recycling for about 20 seconds. Then I run through the house grabbing what we missed the first time.
As I walk out the door Bella yells from the car, "Mom! Look! A hawk killed a small bird on our path and ate it! You can still see the blood and feathers and stuff!" {{{sigh}}} Some things are just beyond your control...
Of course we did NOT get a showing that day, but, darn, the house looked good!
I tacked up a poem at the entrance of our house to warn people in case I miss something and they are there for a showing. Perhaps it will warn them/help them understand/make them chuckle. Here it is:
We have five children and we must confess, that quite often our house is a mess!
So look around, but close your eyes if you must, to laundry, crumbs, fingerprints, dust.
Please remember as you tour our dwelling, that it's the house, not the dust that we're selling!
Entry for December 01, 2007
Everyone has been asking when I am going to update the blog. Sorry, guys. It has just been nonstop around here. We had the fundraiser on November 16th for the Schiltz family and it was a big success! We raised enough to help them out for a few months and we fed over 700 people! Please continue your prayers for Finn to get a heart...
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I am so tired, I don't even know why I am sitting here at the computer. We went to Smithville, MO for a week and got back about 2:00 this morning, so I am zonked.
Car rides are always interesting, especially with 5 kids. It takes a little over 7 hours to get from St. Charles, IL to Smithville, MO. Well, if you don't stop. With 5 kids, you stop. The trip always starts the same way. I get the lecture from Joe: "Do not give the children anything to eat or drink. I am not stopping till we get there." In this case, there was Hannibal, MO, Mark Twain's boyhood hometown. We thought it would be nice to check it out, since Noah and Bella are avid readers and Noah, especially, has read lots of Mark Twain. So Joe's intentions were to drive for 5 hours straight till we hit the Mississippi and Hannibal.
The ride started out nicely. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, the world was happy. Five minutes later Isabella and Genevieve are having a fistfight in the back seat. Joe starts yelling at them. Charlie gets upset because Joe is yelling and squeezes Noah. Noah cries. Angelina begins to whine that she is thirsty. I burst out laughing. Joe glares at me. I can't help it. All I can think of is that outside the car it's so peaceful and we are driving at 70, er, 55 miles per hour and it is like complete chaos on wheels. That's our family.
After a couple of bathroom breaks, a snack (eaten in the car) and an endless medley of Hannah Montana songs courtesy of Genevieve, we arrive in Hannibal. It is much later than we were planning on getting there. The sun is setting and the attractions are closed. Oh, well, we can take a walk around after dinner. We find the Mark Twain Diner (seriously, you expected a different name?) and get a table. The waitress informs us that there is a buffet. We check it out. It is completely repulsive. There are trays of breaded lumps of unidentifiable food and various veggies and salad fixings. After careful examination, we realize that there is fried chicken, popcorn shrimp, whole (I mean with the fins and head) fried catfish and frogs legs. I had never seen frogs legs as a food before. They look just like they do on the frog, except breaded. Ugh, icky squishy frogs, breaded and fried. I try to act natural and as if I am not completely grossed out. So, I ask the kids if anyone is interested in having the buffet. The are ecstatic! They all want the buffet, except Angelina, who always waits until the waitress gets annoyed because she's taking too long to order. Eventually, she decides on a bowl of chili. Good girl.
Charlie immediately heads for the buffet. He puts a catfish and about seven frogs legs in his dish, sits down and gets to work. In about a minute there is a catfish skeleton in his dish. The waitress brings my meal and I am busy eating when I hear Bella say, "Charlie, you can't eat the spine! Put it down!" She looks at me and makes a yucky face. I make a face back at her that says, "I don't care if you think it is gross, he is using good manners and eating food that HE likes to eat." I have faces for many occasions. I use that one a lot, though. Then I tap Charlie on the shoulder and quietly remind him that, no matter how pleasantly crunchy they are, we shouldn't eat bones. A couple of minutes later I furtively glance over to see how he is making out with the frogs legs. I don't think he likes them as much as the catfish; he only ate the little flipper-feet off of them. I can't take it anymore. I go up and get him a dish piled with normal, non-squishy popcorn shrimp. He eats it all.
After dinner we make sure everyone uses the bathroom to ward off disaster and we head out the door. On the way out Noah sees that they have a jar of Andes mints for 5 cents each. He politely asks for a quarter and gives it to the guy behind the counter, then gives each one of his siblings the candy before taking his own. Good boy.
It was dark out, but the weather was mild, so we had our own twilight tour of Hannibal. We saw Mark Twain's boyhood home, Becky Thatcher's house and Cardiff Hill. The kids were happy with that, so we piled into the car and headed west. Noah starts saying, "We're goin' west! We're goin' west on the wagon train!" He is a great mimic and he sounds like a leathery old prospector. We all crack up. Ten minutes later Noah and Bella are fighting and Angelina is begging for a snack, because she is SOOOO hungry. Charlie yells, "It's too loud!" I giggle. Joe glares. We're on the road.
The week in Smithville was good. We stayed in a house that Joe's bosses are letting us live in for several months after we sell our own. This way we don't have to scramble to buy a house right away. It is very generous of them. The kids enjoyed the fact that it was almost completely empty, so they did a lot of running and jumping. There was nothing to sit on, because it is unfurnished. Joe brought in the patio set, so the kids had places to sit at meals. The kids enjoyed looking around and deciding who was to go in which bedroom when we move. We went and got our library cards at the Smithville library, so the kids had lots of books to read. We also went to Arthur Bryant's and got a taste of real Kansas City Barbecue. Charlie, of course, loved the ribs, but the other kids liked the burnt ends best. By the end of the week, we had decided that we liked it, but that we would like it even more with our own furniture. Or ANY furniture, for that matter.
The return trip was basically a replay of the trip there, without the stop in Hannibal. Except we listened to Tony Bennet and Frank Sinatra most of the way home. Nothing like snapping along with "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" to get you excited about the prospect of being in a car for 7 hours. When the kids got tired, we listened to an audio book; Madeleine L'Engle's A Swiftly Tilting Planet. Noah, Bella and I love L'Engle's stories. Joe hates them. It was torture for him to listen to the audiobook, but he made the sacrifice for his loved ones. What a guy!
We got home safely. No bodily fluids were spilled on the way, there was minimal bickering and everyone kept their clothes on. All in all, a good trip, I'd say.
Entry for November 09, 2007
Today we and some other homeschoolers headed over to the VFW post, where we met with two war veterans; one from WWII and one from Afghanistan. I have never seen so many boys in camo clothes. But, more importantly, I have never, ever, seen so many children sit quietly for such a long period of time. They were absolutely mesmerized.
Noah was the most still and quiet I have ever seen him. Anyone who knows Noah knows that his need to talk is equal to his need for oxygen. Well, at one point, one of the vets was describing his stint in Saudi Arabia and talking about what it is like to sleep in a foxhole with scorpions and other insects for months at a time. Noah couldn't hold it in any longer. He raises his hand and says, "Actually, the scorpion is an arachnid." Noah-- always good for a bit of science trivia!
Those vets were amazing. They were there for almost 3 hours talking and answering questions. We truly have NO IDEA what these guys endure for us. I have always felt like I was patriotic and support the vets, but now I realize what a slacker I am. Get involved. Help these guys. They give everything and get very little in return. A good place to start is www.woundedheroesfund.net Check it out.
Anyway, my hubby set this up, so I went early with the kids and brought some snacks and coffee. Genevieve played nicely with her little friend Cecelia. But apparently she drank one too many juice pouches, because, during Q & A time, Noah informed me that Genevieve was in the girls' bathroom and her tights were wet (now that I think of it, how did HE know this?!). So I go in there and, lo and behold, she is standing in a puddle of pee. I am so thankful she had the good sense to remove her boots before the pee came out. I throw out the tights and underwear and clean her up as best I can, but nothing can change the fact that I've got a pantyless toddler walking around. To make matters worse, I can't just leave, because I need to stay and clean up. So I'm stuck there with little Miss Au Naturelle (not sure if I spelled that correctly-- the French is a bit rusty) until everyone else leaves.
A few minutes after we get out of the bathroom she has to go again. I take her in and she's doing a dance while I put the paper down (didn't she just go??). I put her on the toilet and-- I didn't know girls were even capable of this-- she pees OUT of the toilet onto my shoe. Right then and there, any problems with pride that I have had went out the window. I am now a person that people take aim and pee at. How low can you go?
Then, of course, on the way home, we had the requisite tantrum. Seriously, what's a day without a tantrum? My parents happened to stop by just as I was hauling the kicking, flailing child into the house. While they were visiting she writhed on the floor making guttural sounds and then removed all her clothes. I think my parents were scared, because I heard my father say, "C'mon, let's get out of here," to my mom. Genevieve eventually calmed down-- she always does. After the tantrums she is the sweetest child in the world. Which leads me to believe that my daughter has an evil twin. (What, you think this is a bad theory? Ever watch "I Dream of Jeannie?" Enough said.) If I could just figure out how she's getting in the house, I could end the scourge of tantrums.
Later in the day, my mother called and said she would come sit with the kids while I went out to pick up the pizza I ordered for dinner. Wahoo! I can pick up the pizza BY MYSELF!! Thank God for small favors!
OK, so speaking of thanking God for favors I'm going to get totally serious about something. As much as I poke fun at Genevieve's tantrums, I can be thankful for them, because the truth is, she is a healthy child. Friends of ours have not been so fortunate. Mark and Gina Schiltz have a little boy, Fintan Patrick, that needs a heart in order to survive. Mark has taken a leave of absence from his job to be with his family and help with the burden of traveling back and forth to Chicago, where Finn is at Children's Memorial as they await news of a heart for Finn. Some friends and I have organized a fundraiser for them this Friday, November 16th at the VFW on Cedar and N. 3rd St. in St. Charles, IL, from 5-9 p.m. It's a pasta dinner and a silent auction. If you can make it, please go. If you can't but want to help, here is a way to do that:
Make check payable to: The Fintan Patrick Schiltz Fund
Be sure to include the account number on your check: Account # 4500232949 Mail checks to: Remittance Processing Dept. Charter One Bank PO Box 42006 Providence, RI 02940-2006
To read more about Fintan and for pictures, see his CarePage at: http://www.carepages.com/ServeCarePage?cpn=MightyFinn452&extrefid=tlcinvite
And, if you do go on Friday, you'll get to meet me. I'll be the one with the screaming toddler...
Entry for November 05, 2007
Charlie had a great morning today. I have been giving him 2 soft gels of fish oil every day in addition to his other vitamins and I think it's helping him socially (besides, he loves fish so much, why not add more to his diet?).
Anyway, I go in his room to wake him up and I hear, "Takin' a shower," from under the comforter. I tell him that it is, indeed, shower time and he scoops up the clothes we laid out last night, except no socks because I have a huge laundry basket full of clean socks that I am hoping we use up before I have to actually pair them and put them away. I hate doing that almost as much as cleaning the toilet. So, I will get him the socks out of the basket when we get downstairs. He notices there are no socks and says, "Socks, please," so I explain to him about my aversion to socks and he listens as we walk downstairs, then he sighs and says, "It's Monday." I sigh, too.
Before he gets in the shower we need to shave because Charlie is starting to look like a parolee with the scruff on his face. So I tell him to put warm water on his face and he does, then I put the shaving cream in his hand and he rubs it on. He is careful to avoid his lips. The first time we shaved, he tried to shave his lips. I had to tell him not to shave his lips. Then I got to thinking, "I wonder, in the history of man, how many times the sentence 'Don't shave your lips,' has been uttered aloud." Not many, I'd wager. But I digress...
I start to shave him because we are pressed for time and he gets annoyed at me because he is so sure I am going to mess up and nick him. Finally he can't take it anymore and pushes me away and rinses the rest of the shaving cream off, while saying, "It's all gone. It's very all gone." All right, kiddo!
On the way out of the house, he stopped and picked up the newspaper and handed it to me. Excellent! When he gets on the bus, though, he doesn't wave. That was a big bummer. Usually he will wave and I can read his lips saying, "Bye, Mom." It is always a good day when Charlie waves.
Anyone who knows Charlie knows he is a man of little words. But he can sure say a lot in just a few words. Years ago, he was saying something that sounded like "missy kwilla." It dawned on me that he would only say it when I lost it and was yelling at someone. Then, one time, in the middle of the night it came to me. He is a big "101 Dalmatians" aficionado and what he was actually saying was, "Must be Cruella." I must be really scary when I'm mad.
Lately, when I call him to come downstairs for something he has been saying, "Keep your pants on!" Hysterical. Bella says it's from Rock-A-Doodle. Who cares? He's using it correctly!
Once, I knew a mom of a boy who had autism. He was in Charlie's preschool class. I saw her at school one day and she was all excited because her son had said his first word. "Wow!" I said, "That's great! What was his first word?" "@&%*," she replied. What do you say to that?
Sometimes, when I tell Charlie to sit down, he will say, "Shut up and sit down." This makes me feel terrible.
Me: "I didn't say, 'Shut up and sit down, Charlie, I just said, 'Sit down.'"
Charlie: "Shut up and sit down!"
Me: "OK, I did say it that time, but just to tell you that I didn't say it. I'm not telling you to shut up, just sit down. I wouldn't tell you to shut up."
Charlie: "SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!!"
Me: (sitting down) "OK."
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