Tuesday, August 31, 2010

my welcome mat is very misleading.

We don’t answer the door at our house. Partly because we are anti-social pricks (our neighbours will be the first to confirm this), but mostly because an unsolicited knock on the door is never good.

Likely reasons you are knocking on my door without an invitation:
  1. you are trying to get me to join your religious cult
  2. you are asking me for money for xyz worthy cause
  3. you are trying to get me to sign up for a fixed gas rate plan with a contract that invites you to bend me over and have your way with me whenever you so choose
  4. you wish to do me and my family harm (super not okay)
  5. you are running for office and want to solicit my vote
  6. you know we are eating something super yummy for dinner and want to join us
  7. you are serving me with a subpoena (uncool)
Okay reasons for knocking on my door without an invitation:
  1. it’s halloween and you are a really cute little kid in an awesome costume
  2. you are giving me money (this has yet to happen)
  3. you are bringing me pizza and wings and/or booze
  4. you live here and you forgot your keys 
  5. you are selling girl guide cookies
What really makes me hit the roof is when someone rings the doorbell, waits, and when the door is not answered, they start knocking. WTF? If I didn’t want to answer my door when you rang my doorbell, what makes you think being persistent is going to make me any more likely to be receptive to what you are trying to sell?? In fact, all you are doing is making my blood boil so that I when I do answer the door I’m going to rip your head off. 

In the age of technology and social media, there are so many more effective ways to communicate with people. I am amazed that having people go door-to-door is still occurring at all. At least with telemarketers I can just ignore my phone. Having someone physically at my door is really intrusive. (Just to be clear, Scott and I absolutely donate to charities. When our friends are doing something for a cause they are passionate about, we do our best to sponsor them. When we can, we donate to charities that are important to us. It just so happens that right now, we are scrambling to make ends meet because of Max’s therapy bills.)  

So, to recap, I’ll quote the great Greta Garbo “I just want to be left alone”. And if you can’t do that, stick to email – I’m much more likely to answer that than my door.

Monday, August 30, 2010

mental health monday: help someone else.

As you can imagine, I am extremely passionate about advocating for all children with Autism to receive early intervention in the form of intensive treatment - be it IBI or ABA or whatever the Canadian government wants to call it.  I am super frustrated by the two to three year wait list for these life saving treatments and I am very vocal about my frustration.

One of the things I do to vent my frustration is call up Oakville's MPP - Kevin Flynn every few months, to remind him that there hasn't been any positive change to this situation since I first contacted him a year and a half ago.  The last time I called I spoke with Sean, one of his office managers.  I was very blunt and to the point.  I pulled no punches.  I laid into him.  Because I could, and I felt entitled because in my books, they have yet to do anything to help Max.

Of course, he was not super appreciative of my verbal onslaught.  He did his best to let me know that he agrees that something has to change, that the current system is not set up in a way that makes it easy for change to occur, and that children with Autism were not the only ones getting left behind.


You mean, there are other people out there who are suffering too?  Who don't have Autism?  Huh. Go figure.

He told me about a young man named David Smyth, who is dying, and will not survive without a bone marrow transplant.  The bone marrow registry is only updated on a monthly basis, and despite rallying all of his friends and family to get swabbed so they can be put in the donor database, he will likely die before the database is updated again.

That sucks.  And it would be so easy for all of us to be part of the donor database so that people like David don't have to die.

So, as a way to apologize to Sean for being so mean to him on the phone, I went to onematch.ca and filled out a simple form so that I could receive a swab kit in the mail.  If you live in the US you can go to marrow.org.  My kit arrived last week and I took about 5 minutes today to provide my samples so that I can be added to a global database of potential matches for people all over the world.

5 minutes.  That's all it took.  And I feel pretty good.  Amazing how helping someone else makes you feel so much better.  I'd love it if you took 5 minutes and did the same.  For David, and the thousands of people who are looking for matches throughout the world.  Who knows - one day you might need to find a match.

where did these huge kids come from?

Sunday, August 29, 2010

adventure in the beach.

Saturday was our 6 year wedding anniversary.  We celebrated by ditching our kids and heading into Toronto for an entire 24 hours on our own (the first time in 2 years!!).  Our friend Raye generously offered up her house in The Beach for us as she and her man Craig were up in the Big Nickel.  They have a very nice place so we truly lucked out.  We dropped our stuff off, chilled for a bit and then decided to go explore the area.  After walking for a bit in search of a suitable restaurant, we decided to go with our friend Raye's suggestion of Gio Rana's at Queen and Leslie.  Feeling particularly lazy, we jumped in a cab.

Gio Rana's doesn't have a sign with their name on it - just this 3D nose.  We were a bit confused, and, as it turns out, there an hour before they open.  
We asked where they suggested to get a drink while we waited for them to open and we were directed to the Ceili Cottage (pronounced "kay-lee" for all you celtic fans).

I asked for a coffee but was informed "this ain't Tim Horton's darlin'" to which I responded "well, fuck me, I guess I'll have a beer then".  We ordered up 2 pints of the McAuslane Apricot Wheat Beer.  Pretty damn tasty.
Turns out Saturday was also the US Little League Championships -  Texas vs. Hawaii.  Instead of  doing the required hot wives shot, ESPN treated us to a closeup of the yummy mummy club.  Too funny.
We felt really bad for the Texas pitcher- he was getting killed on the mound and his coach had to leave him in the game because there were no relief pitchers available.  It was kind of uncomfortable to watch actually.

After Scott finished my beer we headed over to "The Nose" for dinner.  I ordered that coffee I wanted (no falling asleep on the one night of the year I get to be kid free!). And took a blurry picture of my coffee...it wasn't actually running across the table.
Our very friendly waitress Carly posed with the menu.  

I ordered the osso bucco.  Tasty tasty murder.

Scott ordered a steak dish of some sort.  Carly peppered him up.
Because it was our anniversary, Carly treated us to dessert - a wonderful brownie with fruit and whip cream and caramel and faint booze...and of course, tiramisu.  We were pretty full but we made a pretty good dent in it.

Since we were super stuffed after dinner, we decided to walk back to Raye's place to digest.  Of course, we had to take rude pictures along the way.  This is Scott's best impression of what "double hung" means.  I just think this store is over-promising...

We were also treated to an eyeful as the "Drop Everything For Cancer - Underwear Affair"  race was happening in our very midst.  I was the creepy chick with the bberry and I snapped this pic of these ladies in their skivvies unbeknownst to them.
We passed this really interesting tree as well.  I have no idea what kind it is - but wow!
This poor dog was tied up on our way to dinner and was still tied up almost 3 hours later.  It was pretty warm out so I felt bad for him.  

The view from the end of Raye's street is incredible.  Now I understand why people pay a fortune to live in The Beach.  It's like being at super modern cottage country in the middle of the city,  except with more cupcake shops and patios than you have ever seen in a single block.

We spent the rest of the evening relaxing, getting reacquainted, watched the movie "kick ass" and did I mention we relaxed? And slept...and there were no kids...that was the best part I think.  I even got time to read my new book, which as it turns out,  Raye is also reading.

Sunday morning we got up, walked up to Queen Street for brunch on a patio, then came back, chilled out some more and then packed up.  Raye had recommended we check out Ed's Real Scoop - so we went there for lunch.  If having gelato at noon counts as lunch?
I had a hard time choosing just one flavour, so I finally settled on a waffle cone with both raspberry and chocolate gelato.  Divine.  We must go back!  We made it back to Oakville early so we went grocery shopping before we hit home (gotta make sure we have something to feed the kids!).  I can't remember the last time I felt this relaxed.  What a difference a day made.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

six years.

Six years ago today Scott and I pushed all in and took that crazy leap into marriage. So far it has been quite the adventure with its share of ups and its share of downs. We have 2 amazing children, a tight knit family, a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, clothes on our backs and each other to keep us warm at night. That's a lot. We are blessed.  Happy anniversary Scott.  Now let's split town!!

Friday, August 27, 2010

over the line?

I went to see my doctor yesterday.

The one who put my iud in. And checked out my jacked up knee (vagina), which is all better now thanks to his medical expertise (my knee, not my vagina - my vagina is fine, thanks for asking).  Did I mention he’s pretty good looking? Well he is. And he’s a really good doctor (which makes the whole experience aces-ten in my books).

So why did I go? And why did I wear my best underwear? The latter is much easier to answer – I wore my best underwear because I was going to the doctor, and that’s just a general rule I follow. Like brushing your teeth and flossing before you go to the dentist. I made sure to tell him that too – I even flashed my bright pink bra strap to make sure he believed me (over the line?). He must think I’m awesome.

But why did I go? I went because I’m worried about my depression. I went because I needed to talk. I went because I am so very sad right now. This sadness, it feels very different than my depression. The sadness is right, and healthy, and doesn’t make me feel unhinged. If anything, I am grateful that I have a better grasp on managing my depression right now. If I was still sitting on the bottom of the ocean I really believe these feelings of sadness would bury me. But this sadness, it reminds me I’m alive.

He gave me some great advice on how to support my family right now. That it is good to have hope. He told me to come see him whenever I want. I think I will move my visits to monthly instead of every other month. If for no other reason than the great eye candy.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

everything happens for a reason.

When people don’t know what to say they often lean on common refrains that are meant to provide comfort. Comfort to whom? Who knows? Maybe it’s meant to make you feel better.  Maybe it’s meant to make them feel better. The two I hear a lot when it comes to having a child with Autism are “everything happens for a reason” and “god will never give you more than you can handle”. Huh. I’m not sure what I think about that. What does that even mean?

everything happens for a reason

I don’t buy into this. I think I can swallow “everything happens for a reason and sometimes that reason is total bullshit”. Yeah, that’s more like it. Because really, there is no reason for one person to win the lotto versus me (although I never buy a ticket, so that might have something to do with it). There is no reason for me to have a child with Autism instead of another person. I am thankful that Max is my son, and I am doing the best I can to make sure he is thriving and happy and safe, just like any mom would do. The end.  And I doubt that god is parsing through each of our lives figuring out what should happen to us with specific logical reasoning in mind. I think it’s much more random than that. So onto the next one.

god will never give you more than you can handle

Really? I just can’t picture god trying to figure out how much one person can handle over another one. I think you get dealt some cards, you make the most of your hand, sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you don’t. When something crappy happens, you have a choice to make. You can either rise to the occasion or jump out the basement window. Those are your choices. You don’t get a do over and you don’t get to say “really god? You think I can handle this? Because I really don’t think I can – I think you got this one wrong buddy”.

To be fair, it is completely okay if while trying to comfort me or make me feel better you tell me “everything happens for a reason” and/or “god will never give you more than you can handle”. I won’t bite your head off. Though if you were to say “man, this is super shitty” and “I am here for you” I’d probably believe you more. That’s what I said to my mother-in-law Lorraine yesterday. Because if there is a reason why a 58-year-old woman gets inoperable lung cancer I’d like to hear it - and - if there is a god that thinks she can handle it, I’d like to meet her/(him).

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

please no pictures.

Alana didn't want her picture taken. I am a bully so I took her picture anyway.  She brought Cameron a doll named "Alana".  And Max a noise maker.  And me a pile of books.  Scott got nothing...well, he got apologies, and an offer to go buy some scotch, if he really wanted a present.  Then he gallantly offered to go get us all dinner.  He's a good guy.  Jay's a good guy too, but he had bowling league priorities tonight so we'll catch up with him later.

what's your superpower?

I am not able to make myself invisible. Or run at the speed of light. I can’t stretch myself into crazy shapes either. But I have incredible hearing.

It has always been that way. I can pick up conversations in hushed tones as if they were being spoken through a megaphone. I had to replace our chandelier because the old one buzzed when the lights were dimmed and it distracted me to the point that I couldn’t focus on anything else (I was the only one who could hear it). My coworker who clips his nails in his office all the way down the hall from me? Not even closing my door shuts out that grating sound. I can hear my cat walk up our carpeted stairs well before I ever see her. And poor Scott, when he mumbles something he thinks I can’t hear under his breath. I catch every word.

The problem with having this superpower is I often end up hearing things I shouldn’t, things I don’t need to know. It can also be terribly distracting. If you try to talk to me while the tv is on I can’t cope. When I’m trying to fall asleep I need silence. Ear plugs help, but then I am treated to the sound of my heart beat and blood flowing in stereo. A toilet’s phantom flush 2 floors down will wake me from a deep sleep. Trying to get me in the mood when the sexy time music is even a touch too loud? You might as well douse me with cold water.

Having the ability to hear a butterfly flutter its wings hasn’t really done much for me. I would much prefer to be able to fly or have super human strength or read minds. What really sucks is that as I get older and I start to lose my hearing, I will be left with nothing. I suppose the same could be said of x-ray vision though. I guess I better start making the most of my superpower. Careful what you whisper. 

Oh…I can also wiggle my ears.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

what's in a name?

When I was a kid, I did not like the name Katrina.  Not at all.  I often wished my parents would have named me Jennifer or Melissa or Stephanie.  Katrina was different.  In a world of mean little kids, where I already felt like I didn’t fit in, my name was just one more thing that set me apart.  There were no personalized items sold with my name on them (though I always looked just in case).  I don’t know why I felt like I needed a pencil, mug, toothbrush or key chain adorned with my name, but the fact that I couldn’t have one burned me up. 

I had short hair when all the girls had long hair. I was chubby. I wore glasses. I had an overbite.  Add to that a straight A average, playing the flute and a love of reading and you can see why I blamed it all on being named Katrina.  My name was NOT cool.  You see, had my parents named me Michelle or Amy or Angela, I would most definitely have been popular.  My face wouldn’t have broken out.  I would have been asked to dances.  I wouldn’t have won the shop award.  And I wouldn’t have constantly been asked if I was “walking on sunshine” and where were “the waves”?  If only I hadn’t been named Katrina.

Turns out, I’m much more comfortable with my name now.  I have a fucking hurricane named after me.  My friends and family call me “Kat” for short.  I like that – Kat is light and fun and cute – all of the things I longed to be way back when.  Now that I can order labels with my name on them I find I label everything possible with “Katrina”.  I even kind of like that my name is a bit different and hints at my Danish background (after all, Scandinavians are known for being incredible lovers, right?).  I’ve grown my hair out now, my teeth are straight, I sport stylish (Danish) glasses.  What was chubby before is now “curves in all the right places”.  Plus, it turns out intelligence is super sexy, as is being well read.  And the shop award?  That has been my pièce de résistance thus far in life. 

To think, I was almost named Danica…

Monday, August 23, 2010

lemon loaf for lorraine.

Ah baking.  I used to bake a lot (pre-kids).  Unfortunately for them, baking has taken a back seat to things like making sure they don't clobber each other and tackling the ever growing mountain of laundry that needs to be done.  But don't be fooled, I can bake with the best of them.  This past weekend I made one of Lorraine's favourites - lemon loaf.  Nothing fancy, straight from the pages of the Better Homes & Gardens New Cookbook.  It was a big hit.  I suspect I'll be baking more of these in the near future.

mental health monday: touch.

Sometimes there are no words to make a situation better. Sometimes there is only touch. With touch you can tell someone everything you need them to know without even opening your mouth.

I love you.
I wish I could make this better.
I know you are scared and I’m scared too.
No matter what I will be here for you.
We will do this together.

It’s so easy to get wrapped up in your own grief, you forget that by giving love you receive it back tenfold.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

happier times.

This is one of my favourite pictures.  It was taken last summer at blogher in Chicago.  Getting away with Jennifer for a weekend was a blast.  Bff, favourite US city, comfortable bed, grey goose, surrounded by a bunch of fun ladies - perfection, right? I like to think I fully appreciated this experience while I was in it.  I hope I did.

smile - it's saturday.

Friday, August 20, 2010

not just any day.

Today is a special day.  It is a day that I will celebrate every year for the rest of my life.  August 20th 2009 was one of the most exciting days we have experienced on our journey with Max.  It was the day when something clicked for him.  For some reason on this day his motor planning and his brain got together and shook hands.  It felt like a miracle.  But it was not.  It was the result of a lot of people working really, really hard and believing in Max.

One year later Max has made amazing progress.  He is starting to use language functionally.  He is starting to point at things when he wants them.  His eye contact is getting stronger and much more consistent.  Most of the time, he and Cameron have very normal sibling interactions (all jokes and then at each other's throats).   His transitions are much more smooth.  Toilet training is slowly but surely falling into place.  He is happier.

When we're in the thick of it, it's hard to see Max's progress because it inches along.  Three steps forward, two steps back, slow and steady.  But when you step back and are able to see the forest from the trees, you realize that this kid is amazing.  He works his ass off.  He laughs and loves, feels ups and downs just like all of us.  We have so much to look forward to with him - he will teach us even more than we teach him.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

nip and tuck.

I'm a little late to the party on this one (like 2 months), (but I'm not known as one who arrives on time so at the very least I'm consistent). The folks at blogger.com have been busy bees lately, making all sorts of updates available for bloggers like me who couldn't be bothered to move over to wordpress or typepad for additional functionality. The good news, is that now I don't really have to. The only feature I wanted that blogger didn't offer in its off-the-shelf templates was the ability to have static pages and a horizontal nav across the top of your blog. That bugged me because to have an "About Me" type page I had to create a post, which wasn't really want I wanted, so I never did. The other option would have been to start monkeying around with html, which isn't really where I want to spend my time.  I have always stood by the motto "if you write it, they will come".  It doesn't matter how pretty your site is.  In fact, nobody cares about that if the content is top notch.

Anyway, along with the static pages, they added a whole bunch of other hoo-ha. Like colour pickers and new ways to share your stuff through different social media channels. Embedding videos is easier as is uploading and editing images. The one thing they haven't done that bugs me is make it so you can add gadgets on the new static pages. I would love to make a blog roll page, but I'm not about to recreate all my link lists so for now they will stay put in the right margin. 

If you are interested, the header is now updated (thanks Chris!) so the kids look their age (and in Scott's opinion "French").  I have also added some ego booster pages about me, who everyone I talk about is, Max's journey from diagnosis to present, quotes I dig, and my bucket list (and if you have any really cool things you think I should add to that, let me know!).  So, have a look around, enjoy, try the veal, I'll be here all week.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

flattery will get you everywhere.

My mom paid me the ultimate compliment yesterday. She told me that I seem to be in a better place when it comes to Max’s ups and downs. And I guess I am.

I used to hang my happiness on what was going on with Max. If he was experiencing progress I could be happy. If he was regressing I would be devastated. If his progress seemed to flat line I was anxious and unable to settle down until I figured out a way to move him into progress mode again. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a little guy, and a no-win situation all around.

I think something changed, (or shifted?) in my thinking when I took my solo road trip in May. I no longer feel like I am the only one who can help Max. I am starting to accept that he is who he is. We have provided, and continue to provide him with all of the tools he needs (through therapy and social interactions) to progress. Are we a big part of how successful he will be? You bet! Is letting his progress dictate how we are going to feel on any given day going to help him? Probably not.

This is not to say that I am embracing Autism and accepting it. I know that some mamas do, and that’s cool. I’m not there and I probably never will be. I still believe we can and will kick Autism’s ass. I see a bright future for Max where he is able to effectively communicate with the outside world, be successful in school, and experience true joy and happiness, whatever that looks like for him.

Relaxing a bit has helped me find a place where I can enjoy Max, instead of holding my breath and waiting for him to achieve the next milestone. Because he will get there, in his own time, and it will be so much more enjoyable when he does.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

in spring, we'll plant flowers.

My mother-in-law Lorraine (aka Nana) knows a TONNE about gardening. You’d never guess it. I don’t say that because her garden doesn’t look wonderful (oy – double negative), because, it is a very lovely garden. I say that because she doesn’t talk about it all that much. Not until you start working in the garden with her. Then you realize, holy shit, this woman knows her stuff. This summer, as I hacked and slashed my garden down to nothing, she stood back and let me have at it. Once I was done, she let me know what the names of each of the remaining plants were, whether or not they would grow back next spring, or maybe take a year to recover from my plantslaughter. She showed me how to deadhead the lilac bushes. She hypothesized that the tiger lilies that I had trampled on would probably be just fine (and they are). She reminded me to water the transplanted hostas and new cedar bush and purple fountain grass every day. She also knows when each plant will flower, and what colour it will be. When I was tempted to fill in all of the empty spaces I had just created she gently reminded me that I should wait, because “in spring we’ll plant flowers”.

So I want to remind her of that, because I’ll need her help and her guidance. Stay strong Lorraine, and remember – in spring we’ll plant flowers.

Monday, August 16, 2010

use your fine linens, wear your fine clothes.

Scott gave me this necklace the night before we got married. I don't wear it nearly enough. It's one of my favourite pieces of jewelry, so why do I hide it in a little blue box on my dresser? No more.

If you want to:

take that dream trip, take it.
dance in the street, do it.
tell someone you love them, tell them.
wear your sexy underwear, wear it.
climb that mountain, climb it.

Laugh loud, cry hard, but whatever you do, feel.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

i will never reveal the wu-tang secret.

Even on the saddest days we must find a way to smile. Thank you to Scott for getting me this silly "I will never reveal the Wu-Tang secret" shirt from sharingmachine.com. I have a mad passion for gangsta rap, which makes this picture all the more funny...I mean, the whitest of the white girls car dancing to NWA in a Wu-Tang shirt... (windows rolled up for sure).

Friday, August 13, 2010

very superstitious, writing's on the wall.

Today is the only Friday the 13th this year. While I personally don’t attach specific superstitions to this day, I would be lying if I didn’t ‘fess up to having a few silly beliefs of my own.

1. When I get a sudden chill out of the blue, I damn well know someone has just traipsed over my final resting place (which is weird because I want my ashes to be tossed in the ocean).

2. If you kill a spider it will most definitely rain the next day.

3. If I look at a clock and the numbers are repeating (ie: 11:11pm) I will make a wish.

4. If I think about something bad happening, I have to touch wood immediately (this is most often me waking up from bad dreams and reaching up to tap my headboard).

5. Bad things happen in 3’s. If a 4th bad thing happens it means that 2 more bad things are going to happen.

6. I make a point of not walking under ladders. Enough said.

7. If I unintentionally wear an article of clothing inside out, it for sure means I have some good luck coming my way.

8. I won’t buy an American car ever again because the one American car we ever owned caused us all sorts of problems and therefore all American cars will cause problems forever more.

9. I always sleep with a bra on because I am convinced if I don’t gravity will immediately pull my breasts down to my waist.

10. If I make a mental note to remember that I am putting something somewhere I will immediately forget where I put said item and it will be lost in the abyss of "very important things (like concert tickets and charitable donation receipts), never to be found again".

What are your superstitions? Am I alone? Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks if you buy a lottery ticket you for sure will not win...

Thursday, August 12, 2010

the giving tree.

Blogging, by its very nature, involves a whole lotta navel gazing. This is how I'm feeling, this is what I think, this is what I'm wearing today, this is really important to me. Me me me. I'm okay with that, but sometimes that doesn't really help one (me) look outside of oneself or give one (me) any perspective. But since we're here on my blog, which is really about me, I want to talk about "giving". Not to me, and not to you, and not to my navel.

I found out yesterday that the food bank in the suburb where I live is completely out of food. This shocked me because a) the area I live in is known for its affluence and b) it's really hot outside, so how could anyone be going hungry? I thought people only got hungry on Thanksgiving and Christmas (you know, when it's cold and I feel compelled to be generous - tis the season and all that good stuff). But nope, there are in fact people who "have not" in this sea of people who "have" so, so much. And while we shiver in our offices and complain that the damn A/C is in overdrive, there are people out there who are sitting in their homes, suffering from the heat and in desperate need of food and the basic necessities of living.

I went home and opened my cupboards and pulled out every unopened nonperishable item I had, filling 2 grocery bags. That's a drop in the bucket, and I can and will do better. I hope, that in whatever city you live in, you will do the same and give to your local food bank. Whatever you can spare - just give. It feels good and it helps put things in perspective. No matter how hard you have it, you don't have to look far to see someone who has it much, much worse.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

please look at my vagina.

Okay fellas, I have a secret to tell you.

You may think that my breasts are this perky, my ass that perfectly rounded and my legs this shapely. And for certain they are. With the help of an ironclad brassiere, a pair of underwear that took 5 minutes of humiliation to wiggle into, and of course 3 inch heels that kill my back and feet. Har har to you - it is all a ruse. There is a lot of work going on under this dress to fulfill your fantasy that a) my 35-year-old, mother of 2 body can defy gravity and b) all I’m wearing under this dress is a low cut bra and a thong.

Whoa. How did we get here from there?

It was a scene right out of the Bridget Jones' Diary movie (the original, I think). You know the one, where Hugh Grant is putting the moves on Rene Zellweger on her bedroom floor and he discovers (much to his amusement and her horror) that she is wearing grannie panties. So yeah, it was exactly like that, except instead of Hugh Grant putting the moves on me, it was my doctor rotating my knee into very uncomfortable positions and instead of grannie panties I was wearing spanx.How, you ask, did I get myself into this predicament?

Well, I cleverly thought that while I was at my check-up appointment to discuss certain medications, along with Cam who needed to get a booster shot, that it would be a good time to mention that my knee was killing me and ask what was going on and had I seriously effed it up or was it okay and I’m just a big baby who has a low pain tolerance? And yes, I did ask it exactly like that, and all in one single breath. That’s when things went sideways.

“Hop up on the table and let me take a look” he said. (And for all you ladies out there with doctor fantasies, rest assured, my doctor is super easy on the eyes.) Instead of hopping I wobbled, and I sat facing him with my legs hanging over the edge of the table. Cue music, dim lights. I look at him quizzically as he pulls out a sheet (the one you cover your bottom half with when you are wearing one of those gowns that ties up in the back). “Lay back so I can take a look” he says, and I turn bright red thinking he hasn’t heard me correctly. I mean I said "my knee is killing me”. Perhaps he heard “please look at my vagina”. Hey, you laugh, but how else do you explain it?

So I, (who am always game for a little fun), lay back on the table, draping the sheet over my torso. He takes my left leg by the ankle and starts bending my leg at the knee while he pushes on my knee cap. “How does that feel?” he asks, and I flash back to all those Three’s Company episodes with Jack and Chrissy, full of sexual innuendo, as Janet eavesdrops through the kitchen door. “That’s okay, but OUCH that hurts!” I yelp as he pushes on the side of my knee while turning it in an angle it has never seen. “What about this?” he asks as he pushes on the bottom of my knee cap. “That actually feels pretty good,” I respond, winking. That’s when HE blushed. Hey, I figured it was a fair reply given the situation. I should point out that while all of this was going on, Cameron was standing on the foot stool next to the exam table, poking me with her fingers saying “good job mom-mee, good job!!”. Kind of a mood killer. Next time I’ll leave her in the waiting room.

It wasn’t until it was all over that I realized the entire purpose of the sheet was meant to protect my modesty. I mean, imagine if all I had been wearing under my dress was a thong?! I definitely would have had all my business exposed. Sadly, I was wearing the equivalent of biking shorts empowered with the strength of Genghis Khan, holding all of my stuff up and in and flat and round in all the right places. A miracle come to fruition in a simple article of clothing.

The good news is that I can resume my exercise program so that one day I will be able to only wear a thong under my dress and look this good (I can dream). The bad news is that I don’t have another doctor’s appointment for 2 entire months.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

travel tuesday: everyone loves marineland?

Like most people with Autism, Max likes his routine. Correction – he needs his routine, in fact he clings to it. He seems to have an inner clock that knows when it is time to leave for daycare and when his therapy session should be completed. If you turn left at the lights, it means we are going to the store, if you turn right it means we are going to the park. When you deviate from these norms, it can be very hard for him to manage.