September is the New January.

We've all heard the saying "brown is the new black", "Lebron is the new MJ", and "Mojito is the new Martini" (okay I made that one up), but if you are a parent of school age children, "September is the new January". Truly. Why? Because going back to school is the biggest transition a kiddo deals with during the year. For you non-breeders, you can just check out now because I know that all September means to you is that you get to curse as you sit behind school buses, that your commute suddenly gets significantly longer, and you have to listen to your friends with kids complain about how "so-and-so" keeps forgetting his lunch on the school bus.

We are in the very early years of September being the most important month of the year.  In fact, this is the first year that September means anything to us.  Our son Max is 3 years old, and he is starting preschool at the end of August.  I am feeling all sorts of stress about this, which is probably silly.  Technically, he is moving from the Toddler room at his daycare into the Preschool room.  The ratios are much higher (8:1 vs 5:1) and there are a lot more kids in the Preschool room (24 vs. the 10 kids that Max is used to).  To complicate matters, Max is Autistic, so the teachers in his new room have to get up to speed quickly on how to work with Max.  Yeah, no wonder I am stressed.  

I have been pushing for Max to move out of the Toddler room for months.  The maximum age of that room is supposed to be 30 months and Max is now 39 months old.  He towers over the other kids in the Toddler room.  All of the kids he started with have been in the Preschool room for what feels like a lifetime.  The toys in the Toddler room suck, and the activities don't interest him anymore.  He's ready.  Except for one BIG thing.  I'm sure you can guess what it is.  That's right, the whole peeing in the potty deal.  

Boys tend to sort out toilet training later than girls.  Add Autism into the equation and you have a different set of challenges.  If you can believe it, we actually consulted Max's Senior Behaviouralist (the head of his Autism therapy team) on how to best handle this.  Before we started toilet training we charted Max's "eliminations" (pees and poos) down to the minute.  We consulted his daycare teachers.  We pushed back the toilet training start date because I was out of town for a weekend.  And then "P" day came and we put away Max's diapers and put him in underwear.  Everyone had been "briefed", we all knew how we were going to manage toilet training Max.  But I had no idea just how stressful it would be.  Three days in and I was fried.  My husband was fried.  Max was fine, but a bit confused (and smelly).  We ended up having 2 of this therapists spend a day at our house to coach us and to train Max intensively.  A costly solution, but this likely saved my marriage and my sanity.

I'm happy to report that just 9 days into toilet training, Max seems to get it.  He still has accidents, but 2/3's of the time he pees in the potty.  Poop, that's another issue, another blog post.  But peeing...peeing this kid gets.  We have 2 more weeks to get this whole thing sorted out before he moves to the Preschool room.  My floors are sticky, my laundry machine is running 24 hours a day, and my freezer is well stocked with vodka.  Come on September, bring it!

About This Post

It’s back-to-school time, and this year Sprite and TwitterMoms have partnered with bloggers like me to share back-to-school tips and tricks, advice, stories and more! Visit Sprite's back-to-school channel on TwitterMoms to get helpful ideas, learn how to survive the back to school rush, seek out advice from other TwitterMoms and join the conversation. You can learn more about donating your My Coke Rewards Points to support your local school, how to enter for a chance to win some Back to School cash, check out recipes, or even play some fun games. Here's to a successful and stress-free back to school season from Sprite and TwitterMoms!

This Blog Brought To You By The Colour Yellow.

I am currently in potty training hell. Trying to stay calm, cool, collected, all while getting peed on. I think that is what is so hard about this whole thing, trying to appear relaxed when really you want to scream "YOU LITTLE JERK I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU JUST PISSED ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHEN I HAD YOU ON THE POTTY 2 MINUTES AGO! ARGHHHHHHH".

It's actually going pretty well considering the little dude has been sick for the past 3 days. But that doesn't mean it's any fun.

Mental Health Monday: You're Crazy.

I have a friend who is ever so fond of telling me "You're crazy!!". I think he's joking when he says this, but I've started to wonder if in fact I'm not playing with a full deck. Example: I'm actually considering watching Jon & Kate Plus Eight tonight. I know - pack me off to the funny farm now, right? Any sane person ditched that show long ago, but me? I somehow enjoy the torture of watching this completely scripted TLC cross-marketing vehicle being pawned off as "reality" television. I always end up feeling icky after watching it, like I need a shower, so maybe tonight I'll pass. That show is kind of like eating that second piece of chocolate cake. Seems like a good idea at the time, and you may even enjoy it as you eat it, but afterwards you feel gross and you think to yourself "I should know better!".

Anyway, back to my mental health. I don't think I'm crazy. I actually think I'm the sanest person I know. Considering the direction my life has taken me, and how I've managed to somehow keep it together, hold down a job, be a reasonable human being, and remember to put pants on in the morning, I'm doing okay. How do I do it? I try to keep a sense of humour. I use this site as my outlet to express how I'm feeling about pretty much everything. I am real with people, and I don't have time for bullshit. I try my hardest to remember that most people are doing their best, and the person driving the red Subaru hatchback at work who always parks too close to my driver side door making it damn near impossible to get into my car is not doing it to be a jerk, this person is just a really bad driver.

I also think the fact that I'm able to question my sanity probably means I'm not crazy. Do crazy people have the capacity to analyze whether or not they are nuts? Let me know as I'm using this point as a key argument to uphold the greenlight status of my sanity. Did Britney know she was bananas when she started dating the paparazzi and flashing her business? Does Lindsay Lohan know that she is well short of a dozen? And why am I name dropping Britney and Lindsay Lohan like they are my gal pals? Am I too comfortable with feces? Why is it that I don't get upset when I get peed on? Perhaps a trip to the funny farm is in order. Especially if I can get some sleep there!

Highs So High & Lows So Low.

I often wonder how a single day can have such extreme highs that have me soaring next to the sun yet also have lows that threaten to pull me down into a sink hole of despair. It seems unfair. Like a day should get its due as either perfect and unblemished or a shitastic day for the record books. Not both. Days like today pull me in two different directions, making me feel like I am on an emotional roller coaster. 

The high? Max peed in the toilet 8 times today. Outside of one accident this morning right after he woke up, he went 8 for 8. The first 2 trips were tough (a marathon 2.25 hour session in the bathroom followed by a 1 hour session). I knew he had to go, and I figured the best strategy was to just wait him out. The third time I put Max on the potty, he peed right away. And I beamed. He beamed. The world was a happy place. From a peeing perspective, it was smooth sailing for the rest of the day and the little guy went 8 for 8. We gave him a break and let him outside to stretch his legs. After 2 days of intensive potty training, he was very happy to get some fresh air.


But the lows, they are devastating, especially after such a successful day. Max is having a hard time getting to sleep tonight, and he tantrumed for almost an hour when we put him to bed. I thought we were finally in the clear, but he is up again, screaming, and it is breaking my heart. I checked on him to make sure he is okay, which he is. I put him in a dry pull-up, put him back in bed, and told him it is "time for sleep". Didn't work - he is still very upset, and there is nothing I can do except put my headphones on, take a deep breath, and try to focus on the high of going 8 for 8.

Drink Up.

We're on Day 5 of toilet training Max. Part of this process involves pumping him full of liquids so that he has to go to the bathroom a lot. I'm also taking this opportunity to pump myself full of liquids. Take that any way you want. During my 3.5 hour marathon session with Max in the bathroom last night I may or may not have texted Scott to bring me a drink NOW! I'd challenge anyone to hang out with a 3 year old in a 5 x 4 room for the better part of an evening and not make the same request.

The great thing about toilet training is that everyone is full of advice. Dr.Phil can apparently toilet train a kid in 3 days. I invite him to join us Chez Carefoot to show us how. I've been told we should be modeling peeing in the potty for Max. Dudes. We've been doing that since the kid was born. There is no privacy once you have children. There is no peeing without someone trying to crawl in your lap. My kids know about doing the business in the toilet. And just like most things in life, knowing how and following through are two different things altogether.

The thing to keep in mind, is that for the majority of children (regular or special needs), toilet training is hard. Sure there are the brilliant BMers who put on a pair of gaunch and never look back, never have an accident, never wet their beds...these are the same mythical children who slept through the night as babies with nary a peep from the day they came home from the hospital. And you know what I want to say to these parents who think they have cracked the nut on toilet training? GFY. That can mean "Good For You", or something entirely different, you choose.

We are using the Behaviour approach to toilet training. This means that we don't use pull-ups during the day. Max wears only underwear and shorts. We put him on the toilet every 15 minutes, and we keep him on for a minimum of 2 minutes. Then we chart whether or not he was wet, dirty or dry and if he urinated or BM'd during his bathroom visit. If he's wet, we make him touch his wet shorts and underwear so he understands that him peeing made his pants wet, and we tell him "pee goes in the potty".  If he urinates or has a BM, we make a big happy to do about it and reward him with M&Ms.  Then we help him get dressed, wash his hands and try to get him to drink more liquids so we can do it all again in 15 minutes. Yeah it sucks. Yeah it's exhausting. But the kid peed in the potty 5 times today. Not bad for only 5 days into this Potty Training Adventure.

Scott and I are completely wiped out. Our team at blueballoon is providing intensive support right now, and on top of his regular IBI session this morning, two of his therapists spent the day at the house to keep him on track, do some parent coaching, and make sure that he has enough successful trips to the bathroom that he starts to understand how to make the magic happen. They are experts at handling his objections and his tantrums, and they also know how to make going to the potty fun. Seriously, I never would have thought about having a bag full of fun toys that you only get to play with when you are sitting on the potty. Max now wants to go to the bathroom because of all the cool stuff he gets to do while he is parked on the can.  Kind of similar to my Vanity Fair sitting on the back of the toilet for me.

For the next two days, Scott and I are flying solo on the potty training (though we have an emergency blueballoon help line set up to call for advice should we have any problems). Then Tuesday through Friday I will be staying home with Max in the mornings to keep him on track. Our goal is that after 10 days of intensive toilet training he will be able to stay dry between scheduled visits to the bathroom (which will be every 30 to 40 minutes). The increased hours in therapy are costly, but I'm looking at the big picture and thinking that the dollars saved in buying diapers will make it a positive return on investment in a few months. That and one less butt to change won't be a bad thing. Now excuse me while I go top up my beverage...

Not Tonight Honey.

I learned a song when I was in college called "How Do You Keep the Music Playing". I was 19 and that was 15 full years ago (damn...). I remember thinking that it was a sweet song, and thinking that when I found the person I was meant to spend my life with, none of the things this song spoke of would apply. Because you know, true love conquers all and all that jazz.
I'm often blamed of over-sharing and making it weird, so forgive me if this makes you uncomfortable. But I had great plans for tonight. All week, I thought to myself, it's been a tough slog lately, I was out of town last weekend, toilet training is no fun, and it's time to reconnect with the hubby and remind him why he married me. Fast forward to our week, and we have one very stressed out little boy who as I write this is shrieking his head off in his room because he does not want to go to sleep. You have one super exhausted Fickle Feline downing a very stiff drink because I just spent the last 3.5 hours locked in a bathroom with my 3 year old Autistic son trying to get him to do his business in the potty, and you have one husband reading his book on the back deck in hopes of getting a break from his first born who is screaming blue murder.  Very sexy, I know.  

Having a child with special needs, or who is "heavily involved" as we like to say in the industry of paediatric health care can really, really take its toll on a marriage.  You work so hard to keep it together, to make sure your child is getting everything he needs.  Then there are you other children - are they getting enough of you?  Are they resentful that so much focus is placed on their sibling?  And your spouse... how is he coping in all of this?  And after you've taken care of everyone else, how you doin' mom??  You feeling like putting on something slinky, touching up your makeup and slipping on your f*ck me shoes?  Right.  Me too.  

It's work.  It's work I want to do.  I'm lucky that I'm married to my best friend.  I love him and I respect him and I find him very interesting and sexy.  And when I have my child's poop running down my arm and I'm holding his wailing body tight to me, sh!t and all, I have to remember that it's me this time, but last time it was Scott.  He is my partner in this.  He is one of the strongest men I know.  He laughs with me on the hard days.  Takes shifts with me on the nights when our kids tag team us, and happily orders take out when he sees that I have nothing left.  And if I say "Not tonight honey" he understands and just tries again tomorrow.

#Pottytraining #Fail

We started toilet training Max on Tuesday. Wait. Let me pour myself a stiff drink before I start this tale of feces and woe.

We started toilet training Max on Tuesday. I have the grey hair to prove it. And sticky floors. And now that you mention it, I am pretty much caught up on all of my laundry because I've been running my washer and dryer non-stop for the past 2 days. Who knew that one little boy could produce so much excrement? Who knew that parking a child on the toilet every 15 minutes could be so dog damn exhausting? Add to that, we are tracking every toileting attempt and every accident, modeling how to pee and poop in the potty, doling out M&M's for our successful eliminations and patting ourselves on the back for going #1 and #2. Actually, we get really excited when we go #2, and we point it out to Max, do a little dance, and comment on how wonderful it is to go poop in the potty. It's good times in the Carefoot household.

Toilet training a regular kiddo is challenging. Toilet training a child with Autism is something else altogether. You can do it right (basically go hard at it for 10 days straight until your kiddo aces it), or you can torture your child and your family by doing it half "ass" (get it?) and not providing your child with the intensity he needs to master this new skill. So far, Max has successfully peed once (at daycare) and pooped once (at home) in the toilet. That was on Tuesday and Wednesday respectively. If Thursday was a twitter message it would read: "seriously, this sh!t is going to kill me - Max 1, Mommy 0, #pottytraining #fail".

Now that we've started, there really isn't any turning back. While toilet training is extremely stressful and I am super tempted to quit and go back to diapers, it can suck now or we can change diapers for two more years and it can suck when Max is 5 and even bigger than he is now. The most challenging part about all of this is putting Max on the toilet every 15 minutes is hard on him (too many transitions for his liking) and it is very disruptive for his therapy sessions. As the emails flew back and forth between Max's team at blueballoon today, I felt like I was going to have an anxiety attack. What would we all do? How was this to be handled? He has an intensive therapeutic listening block coming up, and Music Camp, and he's supposed to be transitioning into the preschool room!!  And why did I think this was a good idea in the first place?!!

At the suggestion of Max's head therapist, it looks like we are going to hire a respite worker to stay home with Max for the next week to train him intensively. This way by the time he starts his intensive block on August 10th, he'll be able to make it 30 to 40 minutes between bathroom visits. His therapists have assured me that this will work. Never having toilet trained before I'm going to try to relax (which everyone keeps telling me to do) and have faith. Can one be zen about poop?

Wiggle Less Wednesday: An Open Letter to My Body.

Dear Body,

I owe you an apology. For years I have been an unappreciative jerk. I have put you down, used you as a punch line and denigrated you. Instead of celebrating your beauty and strength (because as you can see from the image below, I clearly know how to celebrate), I have wished for a body that came in a taller size, with the ability to tan. I have complained about being curvier than I would like. I have looked in the mirror and hated you. I have covered you up in baggy t-shirts. I have looked at other bodies and wished you away. I have put you on stupid diets, and overfed you too. Then there was the red wine, spaghetti and licorice incident - a million apologies for that - it won't happen again.You have given me the greatest gift, not once, but twice, in the form of my children. And you didn't stop there, you nourished them for over two years all told. And how did I repay you? I criticized you for the stretch marks that occurred as you made room for their growing bodies. I lamented that you weren't "quite the same" since you'd  been busy creating life. To top it off, I publicized my displeasure with you on my blog - where I focused on a number on a meaningless inanimate object as a way of determining if you were worthy of being loved.

Every day, you get out of bed. You are healthy and strong, lifting my children up as if they are light as feathers. I put you through long days, and you don't complain. I don't always eat right, definitely don't give you enough water, and abuse you with too much caffeine and other liquid substances. Yet day in and day out, you stand by me. I have not been a good friend. I don't know how to make it up to you except to do better by you, respect you more, and celebrate you.

Katrina

*****

There will be no more "Weight Loss Wednesday" posts. And don't think for a moment that I have given up on having that fit physique I have coveted for so long, because that is the furthest thing from the truth. I am going to try a different approach, because clearly the one I've been trying isn't working. Letting a number on a scale dictate how I am going to feel on any given day is asinine and I know better. There is so much more to health and fitness than what you weigh.  From now on I am going to focus on making my body strong (hence the "Wiggle Less") and that is what I will be writing about on Wednesdays moving forward.   

You may wonder where this is coming from, and I'll give credit to the "Blogs & Body Image: What are we teaching our kids?" panel at BlogHer for giving me a good quick kick in the pants on this subject. They helped me give my head a shake and think about how my attitude towards my body will absolutely shape how my children, especially my daughter, feel about their bodies. I need to change my attitude now so that I don't burden them with the negative body perception that I have carried with me since my teens.   So thank you to Heather, Carla, Claire, Kate, and Roni.   We are the real deal.  It's time for me to start using my power for good.

IBI Wait List Assessment at ErinOak: Part 2 (Heartbreak in an Envelope).

I have been waiting for three long months to find out whether or not Max is Autistic enough. Autistic enough to qualify for IBI funding through ErinOak. The assessment was horrible. I was made to feel like I was asking for something my child did not deserve, did not need. It was inferred that I was exaggerating when I spoke of Max's challenging behaviours, that I was somehow misrepresenting just how Autistic he is. And dog forbid if he was too Autistic. What then?

The envelope that arrived in the mail from ErinOak yesterday was big and thick. I suspected that meant we were receiving "good" news. Good in that he will eventually receive funding. Heartbreaking because the wait list for funding is 24 - 36 months, and we only started our waiting in December 2008. We spend $1000 a week on Max's therapy. We receive no help from the government. For all of my friends in the US who think we have it so grand up here in Canada with our public health care, let me tell you it isn't all it is cracked up to be. For all of my friends in Canada who think that just because the Ministry of Ontario website states there is funding for Autism therapy, let me tell you this is a bold face lie.

At a minimum, we have 1.5 years of waiting ahead of us before we receive funding for Max's therapy. I've said it before and I'll say it again: the key years for early intervention for children with Autism are between the ages of 2 and 5.  In the best case scenario (a mere 24 month wait) Max will be almost 6 years old before he receives funding. And that assumes that he is still considered "Autistic enough" by the time his name comes up on the long list of children desperately waiting for funding. The "risk" of paying for IBI therapy out of our own pocket is that he will progress too much while we wait for funding. Makes sense right? The very therapy he needs to learn is working, and if it is proven to work too well, the government will not fund it.  Excuse me while I go jump out my basement window.

But for now, I am relieved that at the very least he gets to stay on the wait list. Relieved yet heartbroken as I read Max's assessment which describes him as in the "Low range (less than 1st percentile)" for communication, daily living skills, socialization, and motor skills. If he is in the bottom percentile, why then was I made to think there was a real possibility he wouldn't be accepted for funding? Why would they do that to me? To Max? They didn't see his magic. The twinkle in his eyes, the joy in his smile was lost on them. They didn't see it.

My Max, you are an incredible little boy.  You are smart, and funny, and beautiful.  You have something special to offer the world and I promise you, I will never give up on you.  I won't let the system fail you.  I see your magic and I will make sure others do too.  Light of my life, I will get you everything you need.  I will find a way.

BlogHer '09: Rock Your Socks Off.

Once in a blue moon, you meet a person who rocks your socks off. I hadn't come to BlogHer anticipating meeting this someone. I wasn't expecting it at all. PatientBloggers - You Are Not Your Disease, You Just Blog About It Every Day was a seminar I had been planning on attending since I first eyed the BlogHer agenda. I had no idea who anyone on the panel was, nor did I bother researching them. If I had, I would have been suitably impressed. I wanted to attend more because I blog a lot about Autism, and I constantly struggle with balancing being a mom to an Autistic child and being "me". Some days I write about the battle against Autism, and how pissed off I am at the system. Some days I live blog about reality TV. Other days I write about things I should probably keep to myself, and every once in a while, I 'fess up on how much I weigh. Is that okay? Is that what people want to read? Do I care? Should I care?

Read the rest of this post on The Mabelhood...

BlogHer '09: The Whirlwind.

If I look a bit tired in this picture it's because I have been going to sessions all day, and partying into the wee hours with all of the incredible women I have met over the past three days. I swear I have blog content for the next 3 months, just based on the inspiring conversations I've had, seminars I've sat in on, and elevator chit chat.

Read the rest of this post on The Mabelhood....

BlogHer '09: Wish You Were Here.

When I won the Mabel’s Labels BlogHer Correspondent contest, the first thing that went through my mind was, “OMG, I HAVE TO CALL JENNIFER AND TELL HER”.  The second thing that went through my mind, was that I wanted her to come with me.  She is my best friend, my honourary sister, my sounding board, and one of my only friends that really gets blogging.  She gets it so much, she has two blogs.

Continue This Post Reading on the Mabelhood...

BlogHer '09: Day 1 Recap.

Incredible. Overwhelming. Mind bending. The first day at BlogHer '09 blew my mind. I have had my horizons expanded and I do believe there is no turning back. The sessions have been really strong, with great panels, and thoughtful, respectful debate. The keynotes left me wiping mascara from my cheeks and so incredibly proud to be a part of this creative community of women writers.

Continue Reading This Post on The Mabelhood...

BlogHer ‘09: Getting Here Was Half The Battle!

Eight hours door-to-door from Toronto to Chicago. Not bad, right? I suppose so, if you were driving! But Julie and I were flying, with her 12 week old baby boy Finian at that! After circling above Chicago for 30 minutes due to a crazy rain, our little pond jumper plane needed to refuel so we diverted to Grand Rapids, Michigan. Lucky for Julie and myself (and all the other passengers), Fin was an angel baby, and kept his cool. As the minutes ticked by, we texted like mad with our BlogHer counterparts already in Chicago and let them know that we were going to miss (BIG SIGH) the SocialLuxe party. I am still recovering from missing this event (and don’t even talk to me about the swag we missed out on).

Continue reading this post on The Mabelhood....

So Much For Cute Hair.

All the flat ironing in the world isn't going to put an end to the frizz that has taken hold of my hair. It is raining small domestic animals out, and I'm just waiting for my favourite jeans to come out of the dryer. I have packed way too many pairs of shoes, probably more outfits than I need, and still haven't eaten (unless half a pot of coffee counts?). I'm super excited about BlogHer, but I have mixed feelings about leaving Max and Cameron, well, specifically Max. He is having a tough week - lots of new behaviours coming out. I'm trying to remind myself that these usually come hand in hand with progress, but there is one thing in particular that he is doing that makes me crazy.

He is making this new sound - it's kind of like a moan? He does it when he is excited I think - I'm actually not sure what the function of it is (we're still trying to get to the bottom of it). But it is the first sound that he has started to make that really announces to the world loud and clear that he is "different". And I hate that it makes me cringe, because I love him and I am proud of him. But I want so badly for him to be accepted and I worry that this new sound he is making will stick and not just be something that he does for a bit and then drops. I'm the first one to tell people that Max is Autistic, so why does this bug me so much? Anyway, I'm hoping he has a good weekend and that he doesn't run Scott ragged.

Time to finish packing, eat a sandwich and head to the airport. Later peeps!

BlogHer? I Hardly Know Her.

Tomorrow afternoon I leave for Chicago to attend BlogHer '09 as Mabel's Labels Official BlogHer Correspondent. I'm flying with Julie Cole and her new baby boy. When we get there we will be dumping our bags and heading out to party #1 of many (there are so many parties I can barely keep track of them). Also, my best friend Jennifer (that's her in this first picture) of Also A Talker and It Ain't Meat Babe fame is attending as well. I can't wait to see her. I really can't wait to have a conversation with her without having a child crawling all over me. It has been a long time (about 4 years) since we had 3 whole days together to just relax, shoot the breeze, and truly be Jennifer and Katrina again.

Of course, I'll be tweeting and blogging a tonne. The agenda each day is jam packed, and seeing as I am there on official correspondent business, i feel like I should make the most of it. I have already picked out which sessions I am going to attend (geeky, right?) and now all I have to do is a mountain of laundry, figure out what I'm going to pack, and make sure I leave Scott set up for success with the kiddos while I'm partying it up in Chi-town.

One of the things I'm really looking forward to is getting to meet some of the bloggers I read on a regular basis. There is Cecily Kellogg of And I Wasted All That Birth Control fame, who impresses me on a daily basis with her brutal honesty, integrity, foul mouth and terrific writing. She writes about being a recovering alcholic, infertility, losing her twin boys half way through her pregnancy due to pre-eclampsia, being a mom to a little girl, and being overweight. And she's funny.

Jess Howard from Drowning In Kids is also going to be at BlogHer, and I know she is super shy, but I'm hoping I can buy her a glass of wine and tell her how powerful I think her writing is. She has four kids, is going through a divorce, and has blogged through being separated, reconciling and getting divorced. Add to that her frankness about suffering from depression, dealing with being medicated and non-medicated, and all the messy stuff that goes with it, she is an incredible woman.

I'm hoping some of the other mommy bloggers who entered into the Mabel's Labels BlogHer '09 Contest will find their way to Chicago. There are some really talented writers in that bunch. I expect I'll also meet a lot of inspirational women over the next few days and that my daily blog reading will increase by ten fold.

If you are interested in following along, I'll be blogging over at Mabel's Labels. I'll be sure to link to my posts from here as well. See you in Chicago!

Car Sh!t Drives Me Batty.

I hate haTE HATE dealing with car sh!t. Effing loathe it actually. I want my car to get me from point A to point B, and I don't want to worry about it breaking down. I don't want to hear funny sounds from under the hood, and I most certainly do not want to see those indicator lights start flashing menacingly from my dashboard. Those lights? They make four letter words in languages I've never even heard spout from my mouth. My trusty 2001 Camry, who has stood by me for the past 5 years, (with a mere 95,000 km on her) has had a rough spring, none of it her fault. Regardless, she has caused me much stress over the past few months.

First there was the accident, which completely threw me for a loop. Then there was some pain in the ass air conditioning problems. And then, when finally everything seemed to be running smoothly, some car I had the misfortune of driving behind on the highway decided to deposit assorted parts from its transmission on the road in front of me, and you got it, they bounced up under my car, somehow managing to damage the A/C compressor and the belt. The mechanic told me in all his years of fixing cars, he had never seen anything like it. To which I replied, "of course you haven't, because that is just my  luck*".

With my wallet $400 lighter, I got my car back today and she seems to be back to her old self. For now. I'm hoping that my car problems are done for 2009, and that my trusty Camry will last me a few more years. It would be nice to be without car payments for a bit, at least until Max gets picked up for IBI funding (speaking of which - I STILL haven't heard from ErinOak yet about his assessment!!). Life, it ain't easy I tell ya!

* insert colourful language as you see fit

I Think She Knows How Cute She Is.

No Cure.

There is no cure for Autism. I often hear parents describe their child as "cured" or "recovered" from Autism, and I think to myself "I pray that will be me one day, that I will be able to say Max is cured or fully recovered". But truly, there is no cure, there are only best outcomes. Do I think Max will be a best outcome case? Absolutely. I am only now starting to accept that he will never be cured.
What does this mean? It means that I am coming to terms with what Autism is, what it means to Max and our family. It means that I am reassessing all of the relationships in my life, observing other people's relationships, and trying to determine what a normal relationships is.  I'm asking myself questions like "are normal relationships the be all and end all?" and having internal debates about the assumptions I make about what I deem necessary to live a happy, fulfilled life.  Just because I think one needs X, Y, and Z to be happy doesn't make it so.  I only think that because it is all I know.  Who am I to judge what makes a good relationship?  Maybe it is okay to have a relationship 100% based on mutual love of a certain topic, or relationships where one person has the understanding that the other is not able to have a fully functioning emotional connection with them, and accepts it for what it is and for what that person is able to give.  All along I have been thinking that Max needs to be able to experience life based on my "ideal scenario".  It probably isn't going to happen, and that is my problem, not his.  

I really have no idea what the future holds.  I certainly have high hopes, and I dream of Max being happy and fulfilled  (whatever that looks like).  I don't look at video of Autistic adults on youtube as an indicator of where we are going, because I don't think they are an accurate prediction of what Max will be like as an adult. The therapy Max is receiving is ground breaking, and he has received early intervention.  I know that the progress will continue in tiny incremental steps, and I need to be patient.  There is no magic cure, only hard work and a tonne of perseverance.  All that to get to a best outcome.

A Farewell to Boobs.

My boobs, they are pretty incredible. And by that, I don't mean that they are spectacular in appearance (though by the constant ogling they receive, I would hazard a guess that they aren't half bad). What I do mean, is that they have done right by me, and my kids (and likely my husband). The past 4 years have not been kind to them. They went from being swollen and tender when I was preggo with Max, to getting completely abused for an entire year of breastfeeding. I weaned Max and was pregnant again within a few months so back to being swollen and tender - followed by another 14 months of breastfeeding with Cameron. And they did it - with very few complaints I might add. But as I wound down breastfeeding Cameron over the past month, I started to get very, very concerned. What had four years of hard work done to my girls? I have heard horror stories from other women about how when they weaned their last baby, their breasts all but disappeared, a mere shadow of their former perky selves. Would I be saving pennies in a pickle jar to hoist the sisters back up?
Cameron has been fully weaned for 2 weeks now.  Every day I give the girls a squeeze, check them out from different angles and assess the collateral damage.  I have even inquired with Scott as to whether or not he thinks they still look good.  Of course, he is not stupid and has said comforting things like "of course babe, they are wonderful" and "they are still more than a handful".  They are definitely different than they were before I got pregnant, but I think they have weathered the storm and come out the other side as beautiful as ever.  Resilient, that they are.  And in my opinion, they still qualify as bodacious ta-tas, even if they don't overflowith from my top anymore.  And girls, not to worry, you are officially off duty.  No more babies and no more breastfeeding.  The bakery is closed.