Shedding the Mommy Uniform.

Blink. Is it over already?

After spending the past year on maternity leave with baby #2, I'm heading back to the corporate world tomorrow and shedding the mommy uniform (at least between the hours of 9 and 5). To be honest, I haven't let myself think too much about the fact that I'm going back to the working mom role. Up until this past week I was operating business as usual, my days were filled with taking care of my baby girl, shuttling my Autistic son, Max, to therapy, doctor's appointments, and assessments, and trying to keep our household running as smoothly as possible. So, as usual, the dishes were overflowing from the sink, we were all out of clean socks and underwear, and emergency calls were being placed to my husband for him to pick up milk on the way home.
Read the rest of this post on The Mabelhood...

The Ultimate Test.

Scott and I went out to Ruth's Chris tonight to celebrate our birthdays sans kiddos. I secretly set a goal for us - could we make it through an entire meal without talking about the kids? Of course not, but all things considered, we did pretty well. Our table was decorated with little birthday sprinkles, and by the end of the meal, we were feeling pretty relaxed, so we decided to take each other's pictures with the table decorations pressed into our foreheads. We're sophisticated like that. I think I failed my personal challenge when I showed the maître d' pictures of the kids, but whatever. For the most part, we talked about my return to work on Monday, about different projects Scott has on the go, and about whether or not I'm going to be able to keep to my daily updating schedule here at Fickle Feline (the answer is yes, by the way). We talked about the different trips we are taking individually this summer (Scott is going to New York in June and I am going to Minneapolis and Chicago in July), and our mutual desire to get out more as a couple and carve out more time for ourselves.

Tomorrow is my last day on maternity leave, and I'm really not sure how I feel about it. I'm excited to start this next phase of my life. I'm looking forward to rejoining my friends and coworkers in downtown Toronto. I'm worried about Max, but I'm relieved to be able to take a step back from being so intensely involved in his day-to-day therapy. I know Cameron will do great at daycare, and I think I'll miss our days together, but probably enjoy her even more now that we'll have less time together. And this sounds terrible, but I'm really looking forward to drinking my coffee at my desk in peace.

IBI Wait List Assessment at ErinOak.

Max had his long awaited assessment at ErinOak yesterday for the IBI wait list. I had been dreading this day since it was scheduled over a month ago. It should be noted that Max was referred to the wait list at the beginning of December. It took 5 months for him just to get seen to confirm that he is what ErinOak deems as an "appropriate" candidate for publicly funded IBI therapy.

I timed our arrival time perfectly so there would be no waiting. Two clinicians arrived in the waiting room and escorted Max and myself to a room filled with different functional and imaginary type toys. Max immediately sat down at a the pound-a-ball toy (we have the exact same toy at home) and started playing with it. One of the clinicians was a "Dr.Factor", the other's name escapes me. I wasn't given any business cards as part of the introduction (huge pet peeve of mine as I like to have this type of document should I need to refer back to it at a later date). Dr.Factor immediately informed me that he has been double booked and that he can only stay for a half hour of the 90 minute assessment. How about that, eh? We wait 5 months for this assessment, and he is double booked. He seemed non-plussed by this as his counterpart would be continuing on where he left off and they would videotape the assessment should they have any questions. I was not impressed with the fact that he was going to base his assessment of Max, and make a decision that will affect our family's ability to survive financially under the huge burden of IBI therapy on only a half hour of face time with Max. He should have rescheduled one of his double bookings. Max deserves better.

Dr.Factor proceeded to ask me a series of questions about Max's behaviour. I made sure to answer 100% honestly, as much as it killed me to once again highlight that Max cannot count, identify letters, point, make verbal requests, pretend play, engage other children, eat with a fork, and the list goes on. What really upset me was being told that if Max truly "stimms" (Max exhibits typical hand flapping and wiggles his fingers in front of his eyes when he is over or under stimulated), that he would be exhibiting this behaviour all the time. The fact that Dr.Factor did not see Max "stimming" as I was reporting, meant that he didn't truly stimm. This was after only 10 minutes of observation. Max also did not bang his head during the assessment, so I must be lying about the fact that we get woken up multiple times a night to the sound of him pounding his head against the wall so hard that he shakes the house and the neighbours can hear it. He didn't tear at his face with his hands either, so I must also be lying about the fact that Max harms himself when he gets upset.

Dr.Factor also asked me many of the questions multiple times, rephrasing them, and inserting incorrect information (example - after I had said Max maybe has 10 words that he uses echolalicly, but they are very inconsistent, he came back a few minutes later with "So, Max has 20 words?"). I got so irritated by this that I finally pointed out "You already asked me that, no, 10 words". I am not sure if he was trying to trick me, or was just scatter brained. Even better, when I described Cameron as appearing "neurotypical", I was told that parents don't normally use this term, as if I'm not smart enough to use clinical jargon.

I was then informed that should Max be accepted onto the wait list, it is 3 years long, and they are only accepting the most extreme cases of Autism. I was already completely stressed out, so having this information relayed to me (and from what I know, this information is inaccurate) did not help. The truth, according to Pauline Eaton, the AIS Program Manager, is that the wait list is now 22 to 26 months. Also, from what I know just from speaking with other parents of Autistic children, they do not accept the most extreme cases, they accept moderate to severe cases, which Max certainly is. I think that ErinOak could do a much better job of helping parents through this stressful process. Perhaps a Program Coordinator could meet with parents for a few minutes before the assessment to answer these types of questions, and let the clinicians, who lack any kind of bedside manners or soft skills, do their assessments.

I was so upset about this meeting that when I got home, I immediately called MPP Kevin Flynn's office to let him know (as he had requested) how the assessment went. I called and left a message for Kim Pace at Blue Balloon to get her take on what had happened. Then I called Pauline Eaton to discuss the assessment with her and to share my feelings on how it was handled. Apparently we can have Max reassessed if he is found ineligible. I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry about that. We won't find out for at least 3 months as to whether or not he has been officially accepted onto the wait list. If you're doing the math with me, that is 8 months from the date he was referred. Eight months of waiting just to find out if we get to wait some more!

On a positive note, I received the most wonderful email from Kim Pace, (that she sent at 10:41pm!) that proved once again that we have Max in exactly the right place for his therapy. I really believe that Kim is my personal angel, sent to me to help guide me through this journey with Max. I hope she doesn't mind, but I am going to share her email:

Katrina ... you are one incredibly talented, special person and don't you forget it! You inspire me daily!

I am sorry you had a crappy experience at Erinoak today. I am especially sorry that you had that experience on your birthday.

Look past it all - into the future .. several years maybe but there it is....do you see it? That beautiful, smiling, happy boy! That's MAX. That's MAX's voice! That's MAX talking! That's MAX playing with toys! That is MAX calling you "mama".

Visualize it - each and every day and that is what WILL be. Believe it with every ounce of strength you have and there will be no other alternative. I am living proof of this.
Happy Birthday!
Kim

They Say It's Your Birthday...

It's My Birthday Too! Cameron and I had a funny conversation this morning. She was all "Mom, get up! It's my birthday!". And I was all "Cameron, I want to sleep! It's my birthday too!". Obviously she won, and we got up, far earlier than anyone should have to be vertical on any day, let alone their birthday. Then she gave me the best birthday present in the world (besides her sweet self, which is what she gave me last year). She said "mama". Four times. And then I bawled.

I have been waiting to hear "mama" for three years. Max does not say "mama". I hadn't realized just how badly I needed to hear that one word. After Cameron said it, I blinked back tears and said "Yes! That's right! Mama!" and I clapped for her. And then she clapped back, and that's when I lost it. You probably aren't supposed to cry on your birthday, but it was warranted. The other wonderful gift I got was Cameron's daycare pictures. Daycare pictures! She actually sat and smiled for them. We haven't been able to get Max to sit for them, so these are my first official school pics and I love 'em. I think I'm going to order the bottom one, but Scott's folks like the middle one. Couldn't you just eat her she's so cute?

This afternoon I'm taking Max to his big Autism Wait List assessment at Erin Oak where I suspect they will poke him with a stick and make him completely miserable to prove once again that he is Autistic. Then I'll get to bring him home and try to settle him down after being tortured for the second time this week. Poor kid. Considering what he has been through in the past month, I can't blame him for being cranky with us, I would be too. Wish us luck! And vodka!

American Idol: Rat Pack Week.

I tried multiple times to write a post about this week's performances. Pure venom was running through my fingertips, and it is very sticky, so my keyboard got all jammed up. So instead I decided to do a video blog. I still hate on everyone, but at least I have the goods to back it up. Check it out if you want to hear how these songs were meant to be sung. Shoot, I have a cold and I sound better than all of these guys put together.

I Like Me, I Really Like Me.

I turn 34 tomorrow. That officially lands me in my mid thirties. While "30" is the new "20", the verdict is still out on what 34 is...maybe it's the new "24"? Perhaps it comes with a bottle of wine delivered by Jack Bauer himself (hey, I can dream). I was pondering this coming birthday (which I now share with my daughter Cameron), and I came to the realization that for the first time in my life, I am comfortable in my own skin. I feel confident, strong, smart, sexy, beautiful, and I really like myself as a person. I am not afraid to say "no", and I am not afraid to hear "no" either. This is extremely empowering, and has helped me prioritize my needs and my family's needs without feeling guilty. It has also turned me into one hell of a negotiator.

When I look back at earlier phases of my life, I wish I could have felt the confidence I have now, but back then. I wish I would have felt better about myself and seen how pretty I was instead of being crippled by insecurity. I wish I would have gotten over heartbreak faster and been able to see the bigger picture instead of navel gazing. I wish I never would have cut my hair short and dyed it red. But I suppose being that girl, with all of her struggles and sadness, is part of what has made me into the woman I am now. I imagine it was hard for my own mom to watch me fall down, again and again, making the same mistakes, not seeing how much I had going for me. What I have learned for sure is that we all have to fall and make our own mistakes, nobody can do it for us. This is the only way we truly grow and learn.

I am not afraid to call it like I see it.
I am okay with people not liking me.

I know who loves me.
I know who my friends are.
I know I'm not perfect, and I'm okay with that.
I know I'm a good person, flaws and all.

I can install toilets, ceiling fans, taps, electrical outlets and lighting fixtures, by my own damn self.
I can also make quilts (I just don't have time).

I have a wonderful singing voice.
I have beautiful green eyes.

I ask for a lot because I give a lot.
I am not afraid to tell the universe what I want.

I love my children with the ferociousness of a mother bear.
I love my husband more today than the day we got married.
I love my curves.
I love myself.

TMI Tuesday: My Wicked Thoughts.

A few years ago, I had a marketing job working for a credit card company. I won't name it specifically, but it is the one that starts with the name of the country directly south of Canada. This was one of those jobs where you sit down on your first day and immediately know you have made a very bad mistake and you are in the wrong place. I had been hired to do online marketing, but I didn't have access to the internet or an email account for the first month. My "manager", and I use the term loosely, (she was never around and never gave me any direction or support) was one of those people that always smiled. No matter what. She never said a bad word about anyone. Always saw the positive side of the worst situations, to the point that I secretly nicknamed her "MFP" (Mary F*cking Poppins).

Don't get me wrong, I like glass-is-half-full/solution-oriented type people, but this woman was just ridiculous. I swear to dog, you could literally serve her up a sh!t sandwich and she would eat it with a smile, all the while telling you what an excellent chef you were. I tried to like her, but because she was never real, I didn't trust her. Plus, she was a horrible manager and left her team to wade through the muck of an organization that requires a lot of escalating, maneuvering and sweet talking to get anything done. The worst thing was that upper management LOVED her, so there was no escaping.

Every 2 weeks, MFP had a status meeting with me. I dreaded these meetings because they were a complete waste of time and I always left them more confused about what I was supposed to be doing than I had been before the meeting. I started daydreaming during these meetings, tuning MFP out as she droned on. I started imagining what her face would look like if I just reached over and ever so casually tipped my coffee over into her lap. Would the Cheshire cat smile leave her face even for a moment? Would the facade crack and give me a peak into her happy-happy-joy-joy soul? Maybe my dumping coffee on her would be the straw that broke the camel's back, and she would jump over the table and beat the tar out of me. One can always hope.

It got to the point that every time I met with her, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to pour my coffee on her. I was obsessed. At first it was amusing, but I started to worry. What if I actually did it? The devil on my shoulder had my ear, and I was concerned that he was going to talk me into doing something that I really shouldn't do. I really didn't trust myself to behave so I did the unthinkable. I stopped drinking coffee, or any kind of beverage, at our 9am meetings. That was the only way I could absolutely guarantee that I wouldn't dump anything into MFP's lap.

I knew I had to quit when my thoughts ventured over to her coffee, and I realized all I would have to do is stretch my arm out a little further and...well, you get the idea. Needless to say, I got over the fixation of wanting to dump coffee on my manager's lap. But if you are ever out with me, and I decide to skip my usual cup of java, you've been given fair warning, and I suggest you keep a tight hold on your own beverage.

Back to Work: 7 Days & Counting.

I have one week left until I am "back to work". Each day is jam packed full of tasks that must be completed before I get back into the 9 to 5, or else...or else the world will spontaneously combust, or something like that. This week's schedule is not for the faint of heart:

**************

Monday am: Take Max to Joseph Brant Hospital for baseline bloodwork
Monday pm: Go to Ellisa's mom's funeral

Tuesday am: Introduce Max's IBI therapist to daycare staff (Brian's 1st day working with Max at daycare)
Tuesday pm: Get Max and myself new healthcards (ours expire on Thursday)
Tuesday night: Go to Autism coaching class (3.5 hour session)

Wednesday am: Coffee with friend
Wednesday pm: Take Max to therapy

Thursday am: My birthday! Cam's birthday
Thursday pm: Take Max to Erinoak for his Autism wait list assessment (try not to lose it as yet another team of "experts" poke him with a stick to prove once again that he is Autistic)

Friday am: One last trip to mall to get work clothes
Friday pm: Take Max to therapy and have visit from Halton Support Services to help me fill out their mountain of paperwork so I can get on the 2 year wait list for Special Services at Home funding.

Saturday: Get my hair done maybe? Laundry!

Sunday: Try to get everything organized for my first week back.

**************

As you can see from the schedule, today we took Max to the hospital to get blood taken so his paediatrician can run a baseline to see if there is anything out of wack with Max, chromosomal abnormalities, deficiencies, and the like. We knew getting blood from him would be a challenge, so it was decided that we would bring him to the hospital when his doctor was on call so he could be sedated.

The entire day ended up being a complete sh!t show. For some reason the lab techs did not understand that Max was supposed to be sedated, nor did they have any clue as to how to handle a 3 year old child with Autism. They tried to wrap Max up in a blanket and hold him down to take his blood. He screamed and cried, and I almost passed out from the stress of it all. After about a minute of this I told them to stop and that if they weren't going to sedate him then we would just call it a day. They called his nurses in, realized I hadn't been lying to them when I said he was supposed to be sedated, and decided that we should sedate him and then they would come back. Great. We had already been there for 2 hours and Max was starting to climb the walls. Scott was getting super stressed (he had taken a vacation day for this), so I told him to go home and I would wait for the sedative to kick in. Turns out Max has a very high tolerance to sedatives, so even after they gave him a second dose, it still took him over 2 hours to conk out.

Two more visits from the lab techs and still no dice, or rather, no blood. Poor kid was tortured needlessly and locked up in a hospital room for over 5 hours on the most beautiful day of the year so far. I took him home, his arms covered in bruises, completely woozy from the drugs, all for naught. I'm not sure what the hell we are going to do now, we didn't get the blood we needed to run the tests, and it is clear that he will have to be put under a general anesthetic if they hope to have any luck getting a sample from him. I am kicking myself for putting him through this - I should have stopped it right at the very beginning of the day when the lab techs clearly didn't understand how to work with a child, let alone an Autistic one. Sadly, I also didn't get out of the hospital in time to go to my friend's mom's funeral service, so I wasn't able to pay my respects.

Note to self: this is not the way to spend one of the last days of your maternity leave before going back to work.

Hey Blackberry, How You Taste So Sweet.

Guess who got a BlackBerry Curve for her birthday? That's right - moi! Scott must have gotten tired of hearing me bemoan the fact that I didn't have one, and that I really, really wanted one. I have all sorts of reasons as to why I believe that I "need" one...gotta stay connected to everything once I'm back at work...need to be 100% reachable in case something happens with the kids...etc, etc. Really, I just want one because I like the idea of being able to send and receive emails any damn time I want. And I want to be able to text without having to hit the damn key on my phone three times just to find the letter "c" (yes I am old), and I love sexy new gadgets. Scott got himself one too, so now I can send him naughty messages during the day (on my lunch hour of course...). Excuse me while I go figure out how to turn it on...

Birthdaypalooza Preparations.

We are having a Birthdaypalooza party this afternoon. One party, four birthdays. Crazy, I know. If you aren't familiar with the crazy Carefoot birthday story, Scott and Max share a birthday on the 23rd, and Cameron and I share a birthday on the 30th. Four tauri under one roof, we'll be lucky if our house is still standing once these kids are teenagers.Aunt Jennifer has been visiting and we have kept her busy taking pictures, holding babies, reading stories, and shopping. She helped me make the executive decision that it is okay to not decorate the house for the party. My reasoning is that I've got a lot of other things I need to get done and I think it is more important to make homemade birthday cakes than blow up balloons. Plus the sound of balloons popping will upset Max, so it just isn't worth it. I'll photoshop some streamers and balloons into Cameron's pictures so she doesn't look back to her first birthday party and think her mom was a dirtbag.
Scott and I decided that since Max and Cameron play with the same toys, we would get them joint gifts. I ordered a bead table and wall crab from Hot Toads out in New Brunswick. We had all of the grandparents chip in, which made the cost manageable. I also got them some sandbox toys, a play tunnel, and a parachute. The last thing we need in this house is more plastic crap, so I'm happy to have avoided this for the most part.

Birthdaypalooza guests will start arriving this afternoon and hopefully the house will be somewhat not dirty and the kids will be bathed...maybe I'll even get some time to take a shower. Here's hoping!

Cameron: A Week in Pictures.

Cameron had stomach flu on Tuesday:

On Thursday she had her 12-month checkup at the Early Autism Study:

This morning she played with the new bead maze table she and Max got for their birthdays:

This afternoon she sat under her table and played with her toes:

Cute kid.

You Gotta Have Faith.

There is a saying that goes something like "Don't tell God how big your storm is, tell your storm how big your God is". While I'm not overly religious (that's another blog for another time), I really like this idea. There are days when my storm feels like it is going to knock me over, where I am facing into the wind, bracing myself with each step, and marching forward against the pounding rain. Yesterday was one of those days.

Cameron had her 1 year checkup at McMaster for the Early Autism Study, and as I was driving back from Hamilton, I had a "why me, why Max?" moment. I was dreading taking Max to his paediatrician appointment that afternoon, knowing it would be stressful on him, on me. I was thinking to myself, how many moms spend their mornings taking one child to an Autism study, and their afternoons taking their other child to the doctor to discuss getting blood work done that will require him to be sedated in the hospital because he won't let us take blood?

But then I thought, you know what? How many mothers with an Autistic child would just say "forget it, I'm done" and give up. Probably a lot, and trust me, there is no judgement coming from me on that, I get it. I understand the desire to tell God how big your storm is, and the need to pray for some respite from the howling rain. My personal storm is Autism, and my God may not be the typical Christian God, or Jewish God, or whatever God that the majority pray to, but I do have faith. Faith in myself, faith that I will not give up on this child, and faith that I am myself a force to be reckoned with, someone who does not accept failure. Sometimes when the storm is howling around my head, I question this faith, but inevitably, it comes roaring back and pushes the storm clouds away.

I have had this underlying feeling lately that the tide is about to turn, something big is about to happen for me, for my family, for Max. I have no idea what it is, but I am keeping an open mind and an open heart. You may think it is foolish optimism, but you just watch, the clouds are about to break.

Happy Birthday Max (& Scott)!

Happy Birthday Max!

Little dude, you are 3 years old today! This has been quite a year for you, and I am so proud of you. Last year on your birthday, you still had your parents all to yourself, now you have to share with your little sister. It has taken you a while to warm up to her, but I have to say, you are doing pretty well and you don't seem to mind sharing your toys with her (too much).

Max, if one day when you are older, you actually read my blog (your dad says neither you or Cam will give a crap about my blog and I am flattering myself), I want you to know two things. First is that there is not a little boy on this earth who is loved more than you. Second is that you are a very happy little boy and your smile could light the earth. You work so hard, and you are such a good sport about all of the things we ask you to do and all of the different people who come to play with you. I know that you find things very challenging right now, and that all of the changes are very stressful for you. But you are doing awesome, and your dad and I are so excited to see how fast you are learning.

We are going to have a little birthday party on Sunday. I hope you don't mind, but it is going to be a party for you, your dad, your sister and for me as well. You see, you and your dad share a birthday, and your sister and I share a birthday just one week later. So it will be a birthday-palooza (but all of the presents will be for you and your sister). Not to worry, when you are older you can have your very own party, I promise.

Love,
Mommy

Max's "Birth" day | Max's 1st Birthday | Max's 2nd Birthday

Week 10: Weight Loss Wednesday (aka "The Bitch is Back").

I learned another weight loss tip this week. If you need some extra motivation to eat light, watch both your kids projectile vomit their breakfast all over your bed (thanks Cameron!) and your couch (thanks Max!). Lucky for Scott he has quick reflexes and vaulted out of bed the minute he heard the first suspicious wet gurgle. Lucky for the couch that Max turns white as a sheet before he barfs, so we had already covered it with towels. Ah parenthood, so, so, glamorous.

After committing to getting off the sugar train, I got a not so lovely visit from my Aunt Florenza this past week. She was nice enough to arrive with a big basket of chocolate in hand, along with a bottle of vodka and a pack of smokes. Well, I don't smoke, so I let her keep those to herself. And according to my friend Jennifer, vodka has no sugar in it, so we're all good, me and the vodka. I held off on the chocolate until Saturday night. But The Dude, with his "Hey, careful, man, there's a beverage here! " mantra, broke my willpower and I had a bit of chocolate. Not a lot, and it was dark, and damn, was it ever good. The Fickle Feline abides.

I see that my friend Raye hasn't blogged in quite a while about her weight loss efforts. I'm wondering if this means she is just to busy to blog or has fallen off the wagon? She's coming to town in May, so I'll be able to get a look for myself. Giddy up Raye, I'm catching up to you! Another mom who is blogging about getting back into shape post baby is my friend Rakhi. I love that she is so candid - and she takes pictures too (Biggest Loser style, not like my lame-o head shots).

10 Weeks until my reunion and I have 15 lbs to go...that's 1.5 lbs a week. Yikes, better get moving, eh?

Week 1 Weight: 170.8 lbs
Current Weight: 165 lbs
Ladytown Status: slightly cloudy, chance of rain

American Idol: Disco Week.

Ugh. Disco week. With all of the great songs out there, why oh why, do we need to bring back disco? This can go nowhere good, and I'm ready to be tortured for the next hour, and my cat has headed for the hills.

Lil Rounds - I'm Every Woman: I can't tell what is going on with this...she is all over the place. It feels like she can't get on top of the beat, and she isn't singing in tune, just kind of around the pitch. Also, she is trying to riff way too much, and it is just coming off as self-indulgent wankery. Heh - I just noticed the GIANT background singers being flashed up on the screen. Good lawd, this is a train wreck.

Kris Allen - She Works Hard For the Money: I understand why he decided to do this song, and I'm thankful he didn't try to do the original arrangement. Given the difficult task of doing something cool with a disco tune and trying to stay true to your own sound, I think he did okay.

Danny Gokie - September: This dude is so white it hurts. Yeah, he has a good voice, and he hits the notes, and he is kind of cute, but he is just so vanilla. I bet he would do great on the Christian Pop music circuit, but I'm getting bored with him. He could go, say, this week, and I'd be alright with that.

Alison Iraheta - Hot Stuff: Great song choice for Alison. I loved the intro with her sitting on the stairs (and her shoes!). I kind of wanted her to move a bit more though, it felt like she was glued to the stage. I think the slower tempo didn't help matters, because the overall energy seemed lower than I would have liked. But considering she's a rock singer, this was just about the best she could have done in this genre.

Adam Lambert - If I Can't Have You: Adam is the only contestant where I actually get excited to see what he is going to do with the arrangement. Instead of singing an upbeat song, he took a risk and sang a ballad, and wow, did he ever sing the pants off this song. His pitch is rock solid, he's in the pocket, and he is an amazing performer. While I still haven't forgiven him for how he sang Ring of Fire, I have to give the guy props, he has "it".

Matt Giraud: Stayin' Alive: I actually don't completely hate this. He really is Justin Timberlake's slightly less talented little brother (singing style on down to wardrobe). But for a guy from Kalamazoo, he's pretty good. My heart won't be broken if he goes home this week.

Anoop Desai - Dim All the Lights: Another ballad. The first two lines felt disjointed. The transition into the upbeat section was awkward. Even worse, he sang over the upbeat section as if he was still singing a ballad. He needed to have more punch in his voice and he needed to sing more rhythmically. Last note was embarrassing.

My prediction for Bottom 3:
Anoop Desai, Lil Rounds, Matt Giraud

Going home: Lil & Anoop

TMI Tuesday: A Surprise Visitor.

I thought I was done talking about va-jay-jays and ladytown. Colour me surprised, there is still more to say. Imagine my shock when I got a visit from someone I haven't seen since July 2007 - my dear Aunt Florenza. Some people refer to her as the hag, AF, the witch, the curse, the list of insulting nicknames seems endless. I am not going on record as saying I welcomed dear Aunt Florenza back with open arms, but in a sense, it seems like her return is a sign that things are starting to get back to normal. I've always thought that if Aunt Florenza were a a real woman, she would look like the Oracle from The Matrix. Wise, all knowing, cards on the table, no bullshit, and certainly my kind of lady.

I am one of the "lucky" ladies that doesn't get monthly visits while breastfeeding. While I have been actively trying to wean Cameron (she no longer gets the boob during the day, only at night), I hadn't realized that I had weaned her that much. With Max, I had him completely weaned before dear Aunt Florenza decided it was time to reunite. This time, she decided it was time to catch up a little sooner.

It seems that everything is gradually coming back into alignment. My figure is returning to its lovely curvy self, my time is becoming more my own, my brain is starting to sharpen, my creative juices are flowing, and most of all, my body is being returned to me. I think the only thing that bothered me about Aunt Florenza's return was this meant I had ovulated, and with that, comes the risk of getting pregnant again which I find extremely undesirable. We are still debating what the best solution is to avoid baby #3. Because of this, I have defaulted to the pill, which I didn't want to do. But it seems a lot better than getting knocked up again...so while we continue "discussing" best next steps, I get to remember one more thing, the penalty of forgetting being pretty steep.

Thank Dog For Monday: Part 2.

Max has been under the weather this past week, and in true Max fashion, has been behaving like a wee tyrant. The last time I posted about being relieved it was Monday, Max had also been sick. Interesting. Every time his behaviour goes sideways, I worry that he is regressing, losing the very skills we have fought tooth and nail for. Inevitably, within a week or so he starts to feel better and the Max I know and love returns, all smiles. Add to that the changes to Max's routine and it is no wonder he is acting like a little bear. Suddenly his sister is at daycare, and he really seems to dislike this. I guess I understand, it was his one place he got to go where he could escape from her. The Infant play area is right next to the Toddler playground, so he can hear her when she cries. It would seem that he is able to pick her cry out, because when he hears her, he starts to scream (not so with the other babies). Let's hope that she starts crying less and that he grows a little more tolerant.

I have also decided to bump up Max's IBI hours by 50%, from 8 hours to 12 hours per week. His therapist from Blue Balloon will be working with him at daycare twice a week, which will help Max transfer some of the skills they have been working on to daycare, and also allow Brian to work on different goals with him. I'm also hoping that Max's daycare teachers will be able to learn from Brian and ask him questions regarding how to work with Max and deal with some of his challenging behaviour. Poor kid gets no breaks - he's going to be in IBI therapy Monday through Friday now. While I'm really not sure where I'll find the money for this, I feel good about putting him in more therapy. The window for being able to essentially rewire an Autistic child's brain is between the ages of 2 and 5. Max turns 3 this Thursday, so I am feeling anxious as the window for us to really help him gets smaller. How sad is it that he won't get funding for IBI until he is at least 5? Welcome to Onterrible.

Purple For Maddie.

I have been trying to figure out what to write about the devastating loss of Madeline Spohr for almost two weeks. A few days ago, her incredibly brave Mom, Heather, blogged about picking up Maddie's urn, and I cried. Her loving Father Mike posted a poem, along with a tribute, and I cried again. I have felt that anything I write will be woefully inadequate, because even with the world's arms wrapped around them, nothing will heal Heather and Mike's broken hearts. Nothing will bring their Maddie back to them.

As I got Cameron dressed this morning, I pulled out some random clothes for her, not really paying attention. It wasn't until we came back from our walk that I realized I had dressed her all in purple. Purple for Maddie. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I knew then that it didn't matter that I hadn't figured out the perfect, eloquent words I had been searching for to pay tribute to this beautiful, smart little girl.

There are no perfect words, there never will be. But I am proud to be one voice in a sea of blogs showing their support for Heather and Mike. There are many ways you can support them, be it directly or indirectly. I hope you will join me in sending healing, purple vibes westward to California. And every time you wear purple, remember their daughter Madeline, and her impish grin.

Strikes & Gutters, Ups & Downs.

After a week that kicked the sh!t outta me, I was really looking forward to Saturday Date Night. Before you go thinking we live some glamorous life (that's what you were thinking, right?), where we dress up and go out dancing every Saturday evening, let me dispel that myth right now. "Dispel". Saturday Night Date night typically commences once both kids are in bed (around 8pm if they decide to cooperate), and is comprised of us hanging out, enjoying some beverages, and watching taped episodes of Law & Order. And the rest is none of your business.

I decided that our typical Law & Order fare was too heavy (even with all the "You know what I heard about Dick Wolf?" jokes and mad scrambling to figure out what real life incident the show is based on when that "This show is complete fiction yadayadayada" blurb comes up). Instead, we opted for probably the best movie ever, "The Big Lebowski". As you can see, we got right into the Dude spirit and donned our bathrobes for the event. This movie gets better every time we watch it. Whether it is John Goodman's constant tales of Vietnam or "Shut the fuck up Donny!", or the Dude driving off the road because he dropped a joint in his lap and put it out with his beer, I find myself laughing out loud (a rarity these days) and forgetting for an hour or so, just how full my plate is. Perhaps my new mantra should be "Fuck it, Dude, let's go bowling".

Obama's First 100 Days in Office & Kid's Songs.

Cameron and I went to the park this afternoon, and I interviewed her on her thoughts regarding Obama's first 100 days in office. Clearly she thinks discussing politics is gauche, and would have none of it. Shame on me, eh? A girl is entitled to her privacy, even at the ripe old age of 11.5 months.

I tried to smooth things over by serenading her (always works on me, so I figured it was worth a shot). Negative. She continued giving me the silent treatment. I may have to break down and offer her the boob to get her talking. Nobody can resist booby.