For some reason, the boys decided to do this morning's routine in operetta. I think Joey started it; as I came out of the bathroom, he started singing "Good morning! Good morning! We're up and getting ready for schoo-ool!" and dashed off to his bathroom to start dressing. Andy was a bit slower, a bit grumpier, nothing like he will be this weekend. Then he heard Joey singing, "It's picture day! I'll have my picture TA-ken!"
Andy hopped in with both feet, picking out a shirt and singing along. They sang to the cats. They sang about putting on their coats. They sang about Mom making their snacks. We had a short squeak because Joey got so into the singing, he forgot to put on his shoes and it looked like we would be late to the bus stop; but then he got them on, and sang (with a very earnestly sad face) that he was late for the bus and might miss it and miss picture day. But then we got to the stop, and here came the bus, and all was well with the world.
Nothing like a little music to start a beautiful day.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Monday, March 08, 2010
My Mommy Sense Was Tingling
OK, ever have that moment when you're thinking, Well, the child has a cold, but there's something just not quite right about this, but if I take them to a doctor, they're going to tell me I'm nuts because the fever will be gone by the time we get there, as it always is, and maybe what I think is a rash is really just too-small clothes and teeter on the brink of taking the child or not? And then you decide to take the child, because its better to be laughed at and have it be a false alarm than to ignore your Parent Sense and have it be serious?
Yeah, I'm having one of those days. What's even funnier is that when we got there, and the PA saw him, she was confused by the rash, which is localized. She peeked in his throat that Andy says isn't sore, and decided it was just a little redder than she liked, and so they took a swab, just to be on the safe side... in other words, her Doctor Sense was in tune with my Mommy Sense, even though Andy perked up and had no fever.
Yep. He's got strep. Who knew? Glad I took him. Now we had medicine, and he can get on the mend.
Yeah, I'm having one of those days. What's even funnier is that when we got there, and the PA saw him, she was confused by the rash, which is localized. She peeked in his throat that Andy says isn't sore, and decided it was just a little redder than she liked, and so they took a swab, just to be on the safe side... in other words, her Doctor Sense was in tune with my Mommy Sense, even though Andy perked up and had no fever.
Yep. He's got strep. Who knew? Glad I took him. Now we had medicine, and he can get on the mend.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Trigger of the Month: Death
Ever since our fish died. death has been a trigger around here. When playing along, all of the sudden, Andy's toys die. He'll be rolling along in a little narrative (very difficult to follow because he still does not speak clearly) and suddenly, he'll come out with. "Oh, but he died. He's dead." Joey is playing nicely, or talking about numbers or something, when suddenly he comes out, "y fish died." Andy runs down to check the fish in the middle of the night. We haven't told them Henri is gone; we noted that sometimes he hides in the little statues in the fish tank, and have let the matter drop. Extensive conversations on the topic have yet to turn out well. Toys also kill each other, or "died" each other, only to come back and "get better." We talk about death, separation, the permanence of death, the moving along of life and the natural aspects of death in life. We try to keep it simple all the same. I even pulled out a Mr. Rogers episode about a dead bird, trying to give them a safe discussion. We watched Charlotte's Web. When it pops up and causes anxiety, the usual modes for diffusing anxiety just don't seem to be working.
Death is one of topics that mythology works best for, but when you have a child who prefers tangibles to metaphor, myth is not the best tool for communicating an idea. So we stick to the tangibles: the fish were here, and we loved them and took good care of them. Now they are gone, and we miss them. We will think about them, and remember them, and we can still love them. This seems to be the most help when the spiral begins.
Its still a little bit of a shocker when you are going along in a conversation, and suddenly the topic of the conversation is "He died. But he's OK now."
Death is one of topics that mythology works best for, but when you have a child who prefers tangibles to metaphor, myth is not the best tool for communicating an idea. So we stick to the tangibles: the fish were here, and we loved them and took good care of them. Now they are gone, and we miss them. We will think about them, and remember them, and we can still love them. This seems to be the most help when the spiral begins.
Its still a little bit of a shocker when you are going along in a conversation, and suddenly the topic of the conversation is "He died. But he's OK now."
Friday, March 05, 2010
Discouragement
We've had a few dips in the road lately around here. As we enter IEP season, its always a good idea to up my meds and crack out the wine, keep to the positive and gird ourselves with understanding of Joey's strengths and weaknesses. Since we will be changing schools, it's time to put together another powerpoint about Joey, a solid assessment to present to people who are new to him, new to us, and vice-versa. It's time to lay out those strengths and weaknesses in black and white, to voice concerns and make suggestions. I really do try to keep it positive, or at least even-keel.
But then we have Field Day. It is always a hard day for me, that wake-up spring call to remind me not only how far we've come, but how far we have to go. This year was particularly a shock as I was expecting to see improvement in participation and ability to complete the tasks, and I actually noted there was no progress at all, and even some (dare I say it?) regression. Things he happily did in kindergarden, or at least gave it a good try, this year he tossed aside in frustration and tried to escape the whole scene.
Then came the Special Education Parent Advisory Committee. It was our first one this school year, which is in itself discouraging. That only one other parent showed up didn't really raise my spirits; I'm chair of this thing. Yet again, and by default. Funnily enough, it is really difficult for parents of special ed kids to come to and run meetings; they have these kids with special needs to care for, and respite ain't cheap. That aside, we were getting the rundown of sped numbers, when there was a discussion of three kids with PDD-NOS who weren't going to qualify for service. I blinked, and have been really thinking about that. I remember how close we came to not getting a diagnosis for Joey, even with his communication issues at age 3. He was too social, he was too mobile, etc. etc. etc. All the standard tests were coming back "borderline". It was the doctor, Dr. James Blackman of Kluge Children's Rehab, who looked at those tools, looked at Joey, and said, "These tools are guides and supports, they aren't absolute. This child is autistic." Dr. Blackman also noted that children diagnosed with PDD-NOS tended to be denied service (hence I support the new DSM guidelines of folding the subcategories of the spectrum under one diagnosis: autism spectrum disorder). If we had just gone with the early childhood educator at the center, or any of those tools, would Joey have qualified for service? Would he even have been considered autistic? And yet is it now obvious that he is autistic, there is no going around it with your tools or guides or what have you. The tracking, the clicking, the language issues, the motor issues, the social issues are now clear, far more than that day. We might say we were frightened and had seen the child slipping from us, but in fact, we intervened at the cusp of real manifestation of autism. Joey was born with autism, but we did see the changes that so many parents think herald the beginning of autism. In fact, they just become more obvious, as other children develop other skills, while your own child seems to turn aside from them. He hadn't just started. It just became more visible.
Back to the committee, where they are denying service to kids with PDD-NOS, reminding me that the attitudes of school are something I must reckon with. I have no idea why these kids are being denied service, specifically, but the shock remains. If they are visible enough to have a diagnosis, then it is time for early intervention for functional and social skills at the very least; yet these children's parents will be told the school system is not going to help them. Will they know where to turn next? I'm digressing again. The point is, Joey is more disabled than I ever think he is. Joey is just Joey to me, he is who he is, and he grows and learns, the miracle of a child growing up and becoming an adult, one step at a time. As mild as we might think his autism- and he is constantly described in official paperwork with things like "mild autism" (though when he was four and five, we did see it become "moderate autism"), "high functioning", and other such odd nomenclatures- it affects him in significant ways, in ways that cannot be pushed aside or ignored.
Then came the magic show last night. He sat with another friend from his class, another child described as "mild." The child certainly speaks better than Joey, but has other quirks of manner and coping that are unmistakable to a parent of a spectrum child. That child's mother was concerned about staying for the whole show, and I agreed. Her child made it through, sitting in her lap on the floor. Mine needed two breaks, and was unhappy with the noise and need to focus even with those breaks. The reminder that Joey often needs one-to-one attention and care in group settings- settings where most of the parents just told their kid to go sit on the floor and enjoy the show with their friends, while the parents retreated to the back of the gym to talk amongst themselves- was a stark one; especially since I was a lone parent with two kids. One melted down if we stayed, the other melted down if we left. At least it was balanced, right?
When we put Joey into preschool, we had hopes that he would be "mainstreamed" by kindergarden. That didn't happen. Then there was talk of him being "mainstreamed" by third grade. The problem there was that our idea of "mainstreamed" and the school's definition of "mainstreamed" are two very different things. Except that for services, they want to go with our definition, while for practice, they go with their own. They're going to want to stick him into regular-ed classes, but they aren't going to want to give him an aide or a specialized resource room once he gets there.
Inclusion is a funny thing. That was supposed to be the big topic of the Sped meeting, but there was a hollowness, or perhaps a shallowness, to the whole discussion. School personnel spent a lot of time patting themselves on the back about how wonderful it was that kids could be included, and that inclusion was done on an individual basis. And all I kept thinking was, No kidding! Of course you are going to put for LRE, that's the law. But I want to know what you intend to achieve by pushing these kids out into regular ed. What are they supposed to gain? And do they gain it? Pushing Joey into the mainstream will look great for the paperwork, but what is he gaining? It isn't like peer models mean that much to him in teaching social skills or self-regulation. Is the goal to teach the other children tolerance? We could argue some success on that front, and certainly that is to Joey's benefit as well as the regular ed kids. Academic progress? That would need to be more specific. Some things Joey gains, some things he does not.
And I have other odd details to worry about. Joey is getting older. We are screaming at lightning speed towards middle school. I have to give thought to his social comfort and skills. The Upper Elementary bus is permitted to drop kids off at a designated bus stop without an adult there to meet them. Our stop is two blocks away and not in sight of the house, since the upper elementary bus does not stop at the corner that is half a block away. Would Joey be able to get home safe? Or could he wander off if he's had a bad day? Do I put him on the regular bus and hope the bus environment isn't overwhelming and trust him to walk down the hill and around a corner? Or do I keep him on the special ed bus, which will bring him to my door and requires my presence when he arrives, but begins to run the risk of having him be at the butt of all those "short bus" jokes? How much of a safety risk is it, and is it a good trade-off for his social acceptance?
See, the other thing noted in the meeting was that as the kids hit high school, they often refuse the accommodations they are permitted because they "don't want to be different." And the school personnel permit it. There was no talk of getting these kids counseling, or working to improve attitudes and acceptance among non-disabled peers, or expanding understanding of accommodations and why they might be needed or why it would be inappropriate (or even mean and vicious) to make other feel they needed to refuse the supports they need to be successful and to learn. The balance between needs and realities is one that no one wants to talk about, far less do anything about. What happened to valuing diversity and acceptance? What happened to the dream of Martin Luther King? Is our understanding of these concepts so shallow? Yet this subtle exclusion in the world of "inclusion" is something I must think about now, to help Joey self-advocate later. The idea of balancing safety with social acceptance is absurd, and yet there it is- an issue that must be considered as Joey builds his social foundations.
It takes courage to get through a day. For Joey, it seems to take more than his share, and we must prepare him for the stores of courage he will need to get through puberty. He's only seven, and I have to worry about his life when he turns seventeen. How far will he have come? Will he be able to communicate his triumphs and tribulations effectively? Will he be valued for the beautiful person he is and is learning to be, or scorned for his social, communication, and motor skill challenges? How can I help him?
But then we have Field Day. It is always a hard day for me, that wake-up spring call to remind me not only how far we've come, but how far we have to go. This year was particularly a shock as I was expecting to see improvement in participation and ability to complete the tasks, and I actually noted there was no progress at all, and even some (dare I say it?) regression. Things he happily did in kindergarden, or at least gave it a good try, this year he tossed aside in frustration and tried to escape the whole scene.
Then came the Special Education Parent Advisory Committee. It was our first one this school year, which is in itself discouraging. That only one other parent showed up didn't really raise my spirits; I'm chair of this thing. Yet again, and by default. Funnily enough, it is really difficult for parents of special ed kids to come to and run meetings; they have these kids with special needs to care for, and respite ain't cheap. That aside, we were getting the rundown of sped numbers, when there was a discussion of three kids with PDD-NOS who weren't going to qualify for service. I blinked, and have been really thinking about that. I remember how close we came to not getting a diagnosis for Joey, even with his communication issues at age 3. He was too social, he was too mobile, etc. etc. etc. All the standard tests were coming back "borderline". It was the doctor, Dr. James Blackman of Kluge Children's Rehab, who looked at those tools, looked at Joey, and said, "These tools are guides and supports, they aren't absolute. This child is autistic." Dr. Blackman also noted that children diagnosed with PDD-NOS tended to be denied service (hence I support the new DSM guidelines of folding the subcategories of the spectrum under one diagnosis: autism spectrum disorder). If we had just gone with the early childhood educator at the center, or any of those tools, would Joey have qualified for service? Would he even have been considered autistic? And yet is it now obvious that he is autistic, there is no going around it with your tools or guides or what have you. The tracking, the clicking, the language issues, the motor issues, the social issues are now clear, far more than that day. We might say we were frightened and had seen the child slipping from us, but in fact, we intervened at the cusp of real manifestation of autism. Joey was born with autism, but we did see the changes that so many parents think herald the beginning of autism. In fact, they just become more obvious, as other children develop other skills, while your own child seems to turn aside from them. He hadn't just started. It just became more visible.
Back to the committee, where they are denying service to kids with PDD-NOS, reminding me that the attitudes of school are something I must reckon with. I have no idea why these kids are being denied service, specifically, but the shock remains. If they are visible enough to have a diagnosis, then it is time for early intervention for functional and social skills at the very least; yet these children's parents will be told the school system is not going to help them. Will they know where to turn next? I'm digressing again. The point is, Joey is more disabled than I ever think he is. Joey is just Joey to me, he is who he is, and he grows and learns, the miracle of a child growing up and becoming an adult, one step at a time. As mild as we might think his autism- and he is constantly described in official paperwork with things like "mild autism" (though when he was four and five, we did see it become "moderate autism"), "high functioning", and other such odd nomenclatures- it affects him in significant ways, in ways that cannot be pushed aside or ignored.
Then came the magic show last night. He sat with another friend from his class, another child described as "mild." The child certainly speaks better than Joey, but has other quirks of manner and coping that are unmistakable to a parent of a spectrum child. That child's mother was concerned about staying for the whole show, and I agreed. Her child made it through, sitting in her lap on the floor. Mine needed two breaks, and was unhappy with the noise and need to focus even with those breaks. The reminder that Joey often needs one-to-one attention and care in group settings- settings where most of the parents just told their kid to go sit on the floor and enjoy the show with their friends, while the parents retreated to the back of the gym to talk amongst themselves- was a stark one; especially since I was a lone parent with two kids. One melted down if we stayed, the other melted down if we left. At least it was balanced, right?
When we put Joey into preschool, we had hopes that he would be "mainstreamed" by kindergarden. That didn't happen. Then there was talk of him being "mainstreamed" by third grade. The problem there was that our idea of "mainstreamed" and the school's definition of "mainstreamed" are two very different things. Except that for services, they want to go with our definition, while for practice, they go with their own. They're going to want to stick him into regular-ed classes, but they aren't going to want to give him an aide or a specialized resource room once he gets there.
Inclusion is a funny thing. That was supposed to be the big topic of the Sped meeting, but there was a hollowness, or perhaps a shallowness, to the whole discussion. School personnel spent a lot of time patting themselves on the back about how wonderful it was that kids could be included, and that inclusion was done on an individual basis. And all I kept thinking was, No kidding! Of course you are going to put for LRE, that's the law. But I want to know what you intend to achieve by pushing these kids out into regular ed. What are they supposed to gain? And do they gain it? Pushing Joey into the mainstream will look great for the paperwork, but what is he gaining? It isn't like peer models mean that much to him in teaching social skills or self-regulation. Is the goal to teach the other children tolerance? We could argue some success on that front, and certainly that is to Joey's benefit as well as the regular ed kids. Academic progress? That would need to be more specific. Some things Joey gains, some things he does not.
And I have other odd details to worry about. Joey is getting older. We are screaming at lightning speed towards middle school. I have to give thought to his social comfort and skills. The Upper Elementary bus is permitted to drop kids off at a designated bus stop without an adult there to meet them. Our stop is two blocks away and not in sight of the house, since the upper elementary bus does not stop at the corner that is half a block away. Would Joey be able to get home safe? Or could he wander off if he's had a bad day? Do I put him on the regular bus and hope the bus environment isn't overwhelming and trust him to walk down the hill and around a corner? Or do I keep him on the special ed bus, which will bring him to my door and requires my presence when he arrives, but begins to run the risk of having him be at the butt of all those "short bus" jokes? How much of a safety risk is it, and is it a good trade-off for his social acceptance?
See, the other thing noted in the meeting was that as the kids hit high school, they often refuse the accommodations they are permitted because they "don't want to be different." And the school personnel permit it. There was no talk of getting these kids counseling, or working to improve attitudes and acceptance among non-disabled peers, or expanding understanding of accommodations and why they might be needed or why it would be inappropriate (or even mean and vicious) to make other feel they needed to refuse the supports they need to be successful and to learn. The balance between needs and realities is one that no one wants to talk about, far less do anything about. What happened to valuing diversity and acceptance? What happened to the dream of Martin Luther King? Is our understanding of these concepts so shallow? Yet this subtle exclusion in the world of "inclusion" is something I must think about now, to help Joey self-advocate later. The idea of balancing safety with social acceptance is absurd, and yet there it is- an issue that must be considered as Joey builds his social foundations.
It takes courage to get through a day. For Joey, it seems to take more than his share, and we must prepare him for the stores of courage he will need to get through puberty. He's only seven, and I have to worry about his life when he turns seventeen. How far will he have come? Will he be able to communicate his triumphs and tribulations effectively? Will he be valued for the beautiful person he is and is learning to be, or scorned for his social, communication, and motor skill challenges? How can I help him?
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
The R-Word
"A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom." - Thomas Paine
I’ve been following closely the comments made after articles about using the word “retard”. They have been disappointing for the most part. The same old arguments are being whipped out.
"I have a right to use this word!”
“If you are so sensitive, do you park in the handicapped spot in the parking lot?”
“Has this word been used toward you or yours? If your loved one wasn’t offended, why should you be?”
“This is thought control!”
“Masking language is just window dressing.”
“It’s just a word!”
“Get over yourself. You just want to control everyone’s speech to gain social power.”
“I’m not insulting special needs people, I am insulting a normal person who is acting like a developmentally disabled person! It’s just a metaphor!”
“Soon we won’t be able to speak!”
Yes, these are all pulled from actual comments, made by actual people, defending the use of the r-word.
Freedom is not free. With every right comes responsibility. Respect is also “just a word.”
Language is a powerful tool, and one that should not be taken lightly. So many not only take language for granted, they judge others by their abilities to use and manipulate it.
Yes, I can fling back platitudes with the rest of them. Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. Metaphors have meaning. Insults cut both ways. If a tree falls in the forest, and no one hears it, does it make a sound?
We are human beings, and many of us are given the gift of speech. Use it wisely. Use it well.
Making a Difference?
Lots of things to do today to make a difference in the world.
Today is Special Olympics' Spread the Word to End the Word. Have you taken the pledge?
Also, we have a local team for ROAR!, the fundraiser for autism research through Kennedy Krieger. You can learn more about ROAR! and how you can support autism research by real scientists!
And one more thing- when you see your kids, give them each a big smile and a big hug, and let them know you love them. You'd be surprised what a big difference that makes.
Today is Special Olympics' Spread the Word to End the Word. Have you taken the pledge?
Also, we have a local team for ROAR!, the fundraiser for autism research through Kennedy Krieger. You can learn more about ROAR! and how you can support autism research by real scientists!
And one more thing- when you see your kids, give them each a big smile and a big hug, and let them know you love them. You'd be surprised what a big difference that makes.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Focus and Concentration
There is no getting around it; Andy has a lot of trouble with focus. The ability to sit and focus on something is a challenge; the only thing I have seem him sit and focus on is a new TV show, when he really, really, really tired. Even then, he likes to wander about the room.
Andy had the stomach ick last week. In fact, we had it together. The result was a day and half of missed school. The result of that was two thick booklets of worksheets to make up in our spare time. Oh, and we had another sheet to make up because one afternoon all he could do was run in circles around the house screaming about how he wanted winter to stay forever and hated the snow melting. It was a little disturbing to see, actually. Oh, and we had the homework sheets regularly sent home, because what is kindergarten without homework? As if I have nothing else to teach the child outside of school!
So over the weekend, we got started. Now instead of 5 minutes (one worksheet), we had 20 minutes to do each day, and I didn't want to miss too many days and have it pile into 30 minutes. Did I mention those "new TV shows" were only 20 minutes long? How long could I get him to focus on a worksheet?
It turns out that we did better than I expected. I mixed the sheets up, so he wasn't doing the whole math packet one day, the whole language arts packet the next. A little of this, a little of that, to hold some interest and break up the tedium. That he found most of the sheets tedious was pretty clear. There was one about money and showing ten cents over and over again, and the question was, "how many cents?" each time, to the point he'd just scream, "TEN CENTS!!!" before writing it down, in an exasperated tone. He liked a sheet that was a color-by number. The writing he finds difficult and tiring. He is still reversing his Gs, and mixing upper and lower case letters. One of the sheets asked him to write a sentence using spelling words, and he seems to like that.
But the fact that I could get him to complete worksheets in ten-minute intervals, twice each afternoon, was incredible. Amazing. Not easy, but amazing. Whatever his teacher is doing at school, it is working.
Andy had the stomach ick last week. In fact, we had it together. The result was a day and half of missed school. The result of that was two thick booklets of worksheets to make up in our spare time. Oh, and we had another sheet to make up because one afternoon all he could do was run in circles around the house screaming about how he wanted winter to stay forever and hated the snow melting. It was a little disturbing to see, actually. Oh, and we had the homework sheets regularly sent home, because what is kindergarten without homework? As if I have nothing else to teach the child outside of school!
So over the weekend, we got started. Now instead of 5 minutes (one worksheet), we had 20 minutes to do each day, and I didn't want to miss too many days and have it pile into 30 minutes. Did I mention those "new TV shows" were only 20 minutes long? How long could I get him to focus on a worksheet?
It turns out that we did better than I expected. I mixed the sheets up, so he wasn't doing the whole math packet one day, the whole language arts packet the next. A little of this, a little of that, to hold some interest and break up the tedium. That he found most of the sheets tedious was pretty clear. There was one about money and showing ten cents over and over again, and the question was, "how many cents?" each time, to the point he'd just scream, "TEN CENTS!!!" before writing it down, in an exasperated tone. He liked a sheet that was a color-by number. The writing he finds difficult and tiring. He is still reversing his Gs, and mixing upper and lower case letters. One of the sheets asked him to write a sentence using spelling words, and he seems to like that.
But the fact that I could get him to complete worksheets in ten-minute intervals, twice each afternoon, was incredible. Amazing. Not easy, but amazing. Whatever his teacher is doing at school, it is working.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Adventures Downtown
Living in Fredericksburg, you'd think there was a wealth of things to do. In winter, it is a little harder, as we don't have a lot of indoor stuff. Battlefields are, almost by definition, outdoors. We don't have nature centers or kid-friendly museums or anything like that. We have a lot of old buildings, loosely scattered over town, with various levels of restoration and kid-friendliness. But the boys are getting to the age when I would like to get them familiar with the history we have around us. After all, George Washington grew up here.
So we got out our cameras, and headed out to see some of the sights. I decided on a group of attractions that sit together- the Hugh Mercer Apothecary, the Rising Sun Tavern, and the library. Between attractions, they took a lot of photos of the street and the sidewalk. No, seriously- pavement and concrete are wonderful textures to photograph.
You aren't really supposed to take photos inside, but the ladies there were so nice! We didn't do so well with the tour, especially since there was another family there, so I pulled them back out to the front room, and the other guide let the boys ask questions about what made them curious. Andy wanted to know what was in the jars and wanted to know more about the big specimen jars. Oh, and they got to see leeches. Real leeches.
Joey was a bit out-of-sorts, but managed to show some interest in the jars and labels. He was happy to see one marked "marshmallow", but was confused that it was an herb, not fluffy white lumps of sugar (marsh mallow was used to sooth sore throats).
The tavern part of the adventure was less successful. Th girl there wasn't as creative, and then the other family showed up there (I don't think they were very thrilled to see us, having experienced our presence at the apothecary), and the boys were pretending to be dogs- so we had to move on, and we didn't even get to see the tap room. We grabbed some books at random from the library (no, really- they just kind of picked out two books that had pretty covers. They weren't in a be-quiet-and-focus mood) and headed home. I was hoping to fill up most of the day with our adventuring, but I didn't even have to worry about the two-hour parking limit on the street. We'll try again in a bit; as they become more familiar with the places, they;ll be more comfortable and listen better. But at $9 a pop per building for two kids and a parent, we'll definitely wait a little.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Field Day 2010
Once again, we have had MidWinter Field Day, and of course, i went. I'm never one to pass up the opportunity to hug my boy all morning!
Field day is one of those events that is difficult even if it is fun. I'd love to say how much better Joey is doing with teh activities since our first field day two years back. But I can't. I'd like to say how much better he blends in with his peers. But I can't. I'd like to say the day was less difficult to watch.
But I can't.
I still prefer to bring you the happy pictures of field day, but there were fewer this time. Unfortunately, we were coming off a hard weekend with some tummy ick, so he got tired fast and frustrated even faster. He would watch his friends be able to do the activities- and we were in with the self-contained class instead of in with one of Joey's regular classes- and get angry and upset that he couldn't do them, too. I keep being told he doesn't need physical therapy, or even occupational therapy for gross and fine motor skills, but it was terrible for him to be the one who couldn't speed through the sack race or walk like a crab. He couldn't jump rope or turn a hula hoop, even just around his wrist. Even trying the team walking, which he has always happily done with his beloved Ms. Macy, he quickly shifted to "I can't do this!" and ran for the gate- a problem they have been seeing increasingly during P.E. at school.
He did find some activities he liked- he always likes the parachute. He tossed a frisbee well, something he and Ms. Macy have been working hard on. He liked kicking the ball into the soccer goal. Moments of brightness. I keep telling myself everyone has strengths and weaknesses. Certainly I was never sporty, and there were these few activities he did fine with, and I tried to emphasize those. It is difficult to see him so frustrated, and to realize how different he is from the skills of his peers. I told Ms. Macy I signed him up for Challengers, and I hope it will help create positive experiences for him with physical activity.
When we went into the lunchroom for lunch, Joey sat at the end of the table, near a window, so he could watch the other kids still playing. He spoke briefly with one of the other children, but was otherwise by himself, even in the crowd, chewing on his sandwich and watching. I sat with him, but let him have his time to be quiet and watch, especially since we came from a near-meltdown, even though we were giving him lots of breaks. How talkative the other kids were, even the ones in the self-contained class! Some of the regular-ed kids joined us for lunch, so there was a very happy buzz throughout the room as everyone (well, mostly everyone- food issues were far more prevalent than motor or speech issues) ate. Joey sat there, collecting himself, watching. We talked about the kids playing with the parachute, and the kids running a sack race. I gave him lots of kisses and hugs.
I do worry about what Joey thinks of Field Day. If you ask him, he gives you the rehearsed "I had fun." To see the other kids doing the activities- hopping in the sacks, jumping the ropes, turning the hoops, tossing the rings- so easy, so fun, so full of laughter- how does that feel to him, having just stomped off in frustration? How can I better support him, help him understand that everyone has challenges and strengths? That being good at reading and math is as important and valuable as someone else's strength in running or jumping, even if it isn't as readily visible?
Field day is one of those events that is difficult even if it is fun. I'd love to say how much better Joey is doing with teh activities since our first field day two years back. But I can't. I'd like to say how much better he blends in with his peers. But I can't. I'd like to say the day was less difficult to watch.
But I can't.
I still prefer to bring you the happy pictures of field day, but there were fewer this time. Unfortunately, we were coming off a hard weekend with some tummy ick, so he got tired fast and frustrated even faster. He would watch his friends be able to do the activities- and we were in with the self-contained class instead of in with one of Joey's regular classes- and get angry and upset that he couldn't do them, too. I keep being told he doesn't need physical therapy, or even occupational therapy for gross and fine motor skills, but it was terrible for him to be the one who couldn't speed through the sack race or walk like a crab. He couldn't jump rope or turn a hula hoop, even just around his wrist. Even trying the team walking, which he has always happily done with his beloved Ms. Macy, he quickly shifted to "I can't do this!" and ran for the gate- a problem they have been seeing increasingly during P.E. at school.
He did find some activities he liked- he always likes the parachute. He tossed a frisbee well, something he and Ms. Macy have been working hard on. He liked kicking the ball into the soccer goal. Moments of brightness. I keep telling myself everyone has strengths and weaknesses. Certainly I was never sporty, and there were these few activities he did fine with, and I tried to emphasize those. It is difficult to see him so frustrated, and to realize how different he is from the skills of his peers. I told Ms. Macy I signed him up for Challengers, and I hope it will help create positive experiences for him with physical activity.
When we went into the lunchroom for lunch, Joey sat at the end of the table, near a window, so he could watch the other kids still playing. He spoke briefly with one of the other children, but was otherwise by himself, even in the crowd, chewing on his sandwich and watching. I sat with him, but let him have his time to be quiet and watch, especially since we came from a near-meltdown, even though we were giving him lots of breaks. How talkative the other kids were, even the ones in the self-contained class! Some of the regular-ed kids joined us for lunch, so there was a very happy buzz throughout the room as everyone (well, mostly everyone- food issues were far more prevalent than motor or speech issues) ate. Joey sat there, collecting himself, watching. We talked about the kids playing with the parachute, and the kids running a sack race. I gave him lots of kisses and hugs.
I do worry about what Joey thinks of Field Day. If you ask him, he gives you the rehearsed "I had fun." To see the other kids doing the activities- hopping in the sacks, jumping the ropes, turning the hoops, tossing the rings- so easy, so fun, so full of laughter- how does that feel to him, having just stomped off in frustration? How can I better support him, help him understand that everyone has challenges and strengths? That being good at reading and math is as important and valuable as someone else's strength in running or jumping, even if it isn't as readily visible?
Monday, February 22, 2010
Henri Cam: Winter Edition
Not sure what is up with Henri. He spends whole days in his shell, comes out for a few minutes, then clams back up. So let's enjoy him while we can, shall we? Because I just don't know...
Edit 2/28/2010: We have lost Henri. This video turns out to be a clip from the last time he moved. Thanks for the fun, little guy. We're down to one fish.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Henri: King of the Mountain
Just a (over life-size) pic of Henri. He gave me a little scare by not moving all night, since about midday yesterday. But when I came down from work for lunch, I found him playing King of the Mountain with Fish.
Yay, Henri! Way to stay alive!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Small Differences Visible
We are standing in line at the grocery store. The little family in front of us is a mom, a dad, a girl about Andy's age, maybe between my two. She stands, perfectly silent, between mom and dad, her hands neatly folded in front of her, looking over the groceries her parents are buying. Her head moves to follow the exchanges between her parents and the cashier. She smiles at a joke. She beams knowing something is being bought for her. She looks happy at a compliment from the cashier.
I have one swinging from the bars that mark the line as handicapped-accessible and divide it from the next register. The other is yelling at me to look at a variety of items at the far end of the line. I prompt them to stay close to me. They are now playing some game in the aisle, one that involves "skating" and racing. I prompt them to return to me. Joey is making a very loud sound, a musical intonation from his new Buzz Lightyear game. Andy is squealing that Joey is hurting his ears.
The mom and dad glance back at us. The eyes of the girl follow their faces. They are giving me The Look. I am busy hugging Andy. I see no real reason to do anything about Joey singing, except to remind him to do it in an inside voice, and then to clarify that an "inside voice" is quieter. He reduces the volume, but picks up the quantity. Andy starts asking for things, and getting upset when I tell him he can't have a balloon, a candy bar, a soda, a toy. He never is allowed these things in the check-out line, but he has the tenacity of a 5-year-old in the throes of marketing genius.
No, the check-out isn't going particularly slowly in front of me, thanks. This is the speed this is all happening- a few minutes, long enough to check less than 20 items through, pay for those items, a couple extra pleasantries with the cashier, and the family is gone.
I'm not that worried about what the parents think of my children. I'm a little worried about what they just taught their daughter about them.
I have one swinging from the bars that mark the line as handicapped-accessible and divide it from the next register. The other is yelling at me to look at a variety of items at the far end of the line. I prompt them to stay close to me. They are now playing some game in the aisle, one that involves "skating" and racing. I prompt them to return to me. Joey is making a very loud sound, a musical intonation from his new Buzz Lightyear game. Andy is squealing that Joey is hurting his ears.
The mom and dad glance back at us. The eyes of the girl follow their faces. They are giving me The Look. I am busy hugging Andy. I see no real reason to do anything about Joey singing, except to remind him to do it in an inside voice, and then to clarify that an "inside voice" is quieter. He reduces the volume, but picks up the quantity. Andy starts asking for things, and getting upset when I tell him he can't have a balloon, a candy bar, a soda, a toy. He never is allowed these things in the check-out line, but he has the tenacity of a 5-year-old in the throes of marketing genius.
No, the check-out isn't going particularly slowly in front of me, thanks. This is the speed this is all happening- a few minutes, long enough to check less than 20 items through, pay for those items, a couple extra pleasantries with the cashier, and the family is gone.
I'm not that worried about what the parents think of my children. I'm a little worried about what they just taught their daughter about them.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Asperger's Autism
Dear Aspies Who Don't Want To Be Called Autistic:
Come meet my son. He's in the top math and reading groups, too. His main difference from you? You can use language better. We know a lot os Aspies who cannot function as well in the classroom as my son, despite their language-use strengths. Your strengths and weaknesses may be different, but that doesn't make you better than him, or him better than you. Hence "different."
Yes, Asperger's Syndrome looks different than PDD-NOS, or "classic" autism, or even Rhett's (which I understand they are going to remove altogether). But the DSM is about biology, not identity. Not everyone displays all manifestations of any condition, and grouping those who display certain sets is a way to help them understand what they might need; but that doesn't- and shouldn't- change the diagnosis if the underlying biology remains the same. Kind of like everyone is human, no matter their need for suntan lotion.
In our little enclave, we have a number of kids with varying kind of autism. Am I entirely convinced there is one sole cause? No, but whatever the trigger or cause, the results are similar: the brain is "wired" differently from the majority of the population, and the results are a different experience of the world, a different way of handling and understanding experience, and a difference in the way the body and brain handles messages (both coming and going). What specifics result in one child being able to talk, and another not? And do those specifics mean that one child should have a completely different diagnosis from another? How is my child similar to, and different from, a child who has difficulty walking as well as talking? A child who is having a harder time acquiring skills? A child with more severe internal issues as well as external issues? Is it a matter of degree?
I am always fascinated by the idea of Asperger's Syndrome being understood as "Autism Lite." There is an assumption that all Asperger's kids are "high functioning", but I am having trouble understanding what people mean- because the apparent meaning that speech is a skill that trumps all others just doesn't make sense. The child down the street speaks better than Joey, but has a lot more anxiety and sensory issues. I will never forget the older child that came to OT after Joey a year or so ago, who could speak beautifully and always had. However, he insisted on playing with my hair (as in, he just walked over one day and started playing, no preamble), refused to sit in a chair, and spoke beautifully and perfectly, as long as you were talking about space*. As long as you couched everything in terms of planets, spaceships, lasers, and Star Wars, all was good. And when he got particularly anxious, everyone around him weren't people- they were planets. I thought it kind of fun being a planet, but didn't go over so well with his teachers and classmates, and it often got in the way of participating in activities or lessons.
Does this child's perfect grammar and solid diction trump the fact that he could only speak on one subject? Does that make him "higher" functioning than Joey? Is Joey "higher" functioning than this child, since Joey can follow lessons and participate in a regular classroom? Hmmm. Again, we find ourselves mired in semantics. What is "high" functioning? Are all aspies automatically and by definition "high" functioning? And if is the answer is yes, does that make them different at a biological level from someone like Joey, or are we grouping people together by similar symptoms of the same condition, like separating humans by race (or even ethnicity)? Should we quibble about who is more disabled than whom?
Personally, I think there is nothing wrong with celebrating ethnicity, even race, as long as we all agree we are all human. These identities are not about being better than others, it is about being different and diverse. Being different makes the world fun and gives us plenty to share and think about, gives us different perspectives to consider. No difference is "better" or "higher", they are just different.
*I'm actually changing the specific topic, because the topic he liked was so specific and particular, it might be a privacy issue.
Come meet my son. He's in the top math and reading groups, too. His main difference from you? You can use language better. We know a lot os Aspies who cannot function as well in the classroom as my son, despite their language-use strengths. Your strengths and weaknesses may be different, but that doesn't make you better than him, or him better than you. Hence "different."
Yes, Asperger's Syndrome looks different than PDD-NOS, or "classic" autism, or even Rhett's (which I understand they are going to remove altogether). But the DSM is about biology, not identity. Not everyone displays all manifestations of any condition, and grouping those who display certain sets is a way to help them understand what they might need; but that doesn't- and shouldn't- change the diagnosis if the underlying biology remains the same. Kind of like everyone is human, no matter their need for suntan lotion.
In our little enclave, we have a number of kids with varying kind of autism. Am I entirely convinced there is one sole cause? No, but whatever the trigger or cause, the results are similar: the brain is "wired" differently from the majority of the population, and the results are a different experience of the world, a different way of handling and understanding experience, and a difference in the way the body and brain handles messages (both coming and going). What specifics result in one child being able to talk, and another not? And do those specifics mean that one child should have a completely different diagnosis from another? How is my child similar to, and different from, a child who has difficulty walking as well as talking? A child who is having a harder time acquiring skills? A child with more severe internal issues as well as external issues? Is it a matter of degree?
I am always fascinated by the idea of Asperger's Syndrome being understood as "Autism Lite." There is an assumption that all Asperger's kids are "high functioning", but I am having trouble understanding what people mean- because the apparent meaning that speech is a skill that trumps all others just doesn't make sense. The child down the street speaks better than Joey, but has a lot more anxiety and sensory issues. I will never forget the older child that came to OT after Joey a year or so ago, who could speak beautifully and always had. However, he insisted on playing with my hair (as in, he just walked over one day and started playing, no preamble), refused to sit in a chair, and spoke beautifully and perfectly, as long as you were talking about space*. As long as you couched everything in terms of planets, spaceships, lasers, and Star Wars, all was good. And when he got particularly anxious, everyone around him weren't people- they were planets. I thought it kind of fun being a planet, but didn't go over so well with his teachers and classmates, and it often got in the way of participating in activities or lessons.
Does this child's perfect grammar and solid diction trump the fact that he could only speak on one subject? Does that make him "higher" functioning than Joey? Is Joey "higher" functioning than this child, since Joey can follow lessons and participate in a regular classroom? Hmmm. Again, we find ourselves mired in semantics. What is "high" functioning? Are all aspies automatically and by definition "high" functioning? And if is the answer is yes, does that make them different at a biological level from someone like Joey, or are we grouping people together by similar symptoms of the same condition, like separating humans by race (or even ethnicity)? Should we quibble about who is more disabled than whom?
Personally, I think there is nothing wrong with celebrating ethnicity, even race, as long as we all agree we are all human. These identities are not about being better than others, it is about being different and diverse. Being different makes the world fun and gives us plenty to share and think about, gives us different perspectives to consider. No difference is "better" or "higher", they are just different.
*I'm actually changing the specific topic, because the topic he liked was so specific and particular, it might be a privacy issue.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Digging out
We had a little snow adventure today. Mom has some doctor's appointments that are needful, so we had to get her dug out and to them, lest we have another several-week wait to see these people. So once again, I set out to retrieve her from the country.
When we had our Jeep, this was not a terribly difficult matter. However, the Jeep got creamed by the shuttle at JoeyAndyDad's work, so we don't have it this winter. We are waiting for the settlement to start shopping for a new one, because winters like this do happen- and besides, his work requires him to be there even in bad weather. Anyway, we don't have a 4WD vehicle right this minute.
I loaded up the boys and headed into the Wild Blue Yonder to go over the river and through the woods (literally). I must say I've been mostly impressed with the snow removal in these parts- the main arteries were mostly dry, most of the side roads are clear, and even the little roads are passable. Heck, even the road back to my mom's was plowed and minimally slushy, and that's practically a miracle. We got to the circle, no problem.
I sat in the driver's seat, poised at the top of the driveway. Let me tell you a little about the driveway at my mom's, the one I learned to drive on. It is about a tenth of a mile long through the woods. From the circle, you dip down into the driveway; back about halfway is an intersection as the driveway teardrops on a slope. You bear left to go straight in; you bear right to head up a small slope, then have to turn a hard and steep left around to face out again. I had a plan. I would go the left, and just before getting to the steep loop, I would gun it up, then back in a y-turn to the parking, and be facing out. This would save me a potentially dangerous slide around that steep loop.
The last vehicle down this driveway was the big electrical trucks after the last storm, so we had to deal with the new accumulation, some four inches on top of the other, which has melted down some in the interval. I sat poised, looking down the stretch of virgin white. Without my 4WD, did I chance it, or not? My mom cannot walk so far. The appointment was an important one. I took a deep breath, and plowed forward. Yep. I'm an idiot.
I made it, oh, about a quarter of the way. The snow was incredibly wet and heavy, but the real problem was that the center of the driveway- between the ruts made by the electrical trucks- was still higher than the clearance under the van. With it being so heavy, my van, not being a snowplow, could only push so far; and the wet snow turned to slick smoothness of ice under my tires. Suddenly I couldn't go forward any more- and I had no traction to go back. Quietly cussing myself out, I got the boys out and we walked down to the house. I explained the problem. My mom, a wiser woman than I, was surprised- she thought I would honk from the circle. Which is, of course, what I should have done.
I got the boys inside, grabbed a shovel, and headed out. I tried to get under the wheels and dig to the road surface. Unfortunately, I couldn't get enough out from under the wheels themselves for this to work at all. I went back, fetched a bag of fertilizer, and headed back to use that traction. A good deal of wheel spinning and choice words later, I head mom calling- she had a rug to try to put under the wheels. I ran back and got it, and was shoving it under the wheel when I herd another car. I looked up to see a large truck with a snowplow blade on the front, perched as I had been at the top of the driveway. Oh no, I thought; even if I can move the car, I'm stuck!
But then, blessings on him, the guy got out and offered to pull me out. We got hooked up, and got started.
And that's when his truck got stuck. Remember that dip into the driveway from the circle? That equates to a steep little hill to get back out to the circle. Try to climb up and out is hard enough, without having a van to pull behind you through thick, heavy snow.
He and I shoveled the worst of the snow out of the way, trying to make it easier, but he just could not get up that little incline. So then the second angel appeared- in the form of my moms next-door neighbor, who has lots and lots of man-toys. One of them is a large 4WD truck with a tow chain. We attached that truck to the snowplow truck, and started again. The circle was well-plowed, and wet, but not icy; so after some more revving and cursing, we were on the move! Up and out!
The nice guy with the plow then tried to plow the drive, but the snow was so heavy and thick, he couldn't do too much. We managed to get some of the snow off the left-hand straight way, and make nice ruts to drive on, but not all the way to the parking area- in fact, the steep loop is currently blocked by the snow push pile. He kindly brought my mom out, though.
We are definitely replacing the Jeep, ASAP. You never know when we're going to have a winter like this.
When we had our Jeep, this was not a terribly difficult matter. However, the Jeep got creamed by the shuttle at JoeyAndyDad's work, so we don't have it this winter. We are waiting for the settlement to start shopping for a new one, because winters like this do happen- and besides, his work requires him to be there even in bad weather. Anyway, we don't have a 4WD vehicle right this minute.
I loaded up the boys and headed into the Wild Blue Yonder to go over the river and through the woods (literally). I must say I've been mostly impressed with the snow removal in these parts- the main arteries were mostly dry, most of the side roads are clear, and even the little roads are passable. Heck, even the road back to my mom's was plowed and minimally slushy, and that's practically a miracle. We got to the circle, no problem.
I sat in the driver's seat, poised at the top of the driveway. Let me tell you a little about the driveway at my mom's, the one I learned to drive on. It is about a tenth of a mile long through the woods. From the circle, you dip down into the driveway; back about halfway is an intersection as the driveway teardrops on a slope. You bear left to go straight in; you bear right to head up a small slope, then have to turn a hard and steep left around to face out again. I had a plan. I would go the left, and just before getting to the steep loop, I would gun it up, then back in a y-turn to the parking, and be facing out. This would save me a potentially dangerous slide around that steep loop.
The last vehicle down this driveway was the big electrical trucks after the last storm, so we had to deal with the new accumulation, some four inches on top of the other, which has melted down some in the interval. I sat poised, looking down the stretch of virgin white. Without my 4WD, did I chance it, or not? My mom cannot walk so far. The appointment was an important one. I took a deep breath, and plowed forward. Yep. I'm an idiot.
I made it, oh, about a quarter of the way. The snow was incredibly wet and heavy, but the real problem was that the center of the driveway- between the ruts made by the electrical trucks- was still higher than the clearance under the van. With it being so heavy, my van, not being a snowplow, could only push so far; and the wet snow turned to slick smoothness of ice under my tires. Suddenly I couldn't go forward any more- and I had no traction to go back. Quietly cussing myself out, I got the boys out and we walked down to the house. I explained the problem. My mom, a wiser woman than I, was surprised- she thought I would honk from the circle. Which is, of course, what I should have done.
I got the boys inside, grabbed a shovel, and headed out. I tried to get under the wheels and dig to the road surface. Unfortunately, I couldn't get enough out from under the wheels themselves for this to work at all. I went back, fetched a bag of fertilizer, and headed back to use that traction. A good deal of wheel spinning and choice words later, I head mom calling- she had a rug to try to put under the wheels. I ran back and got it, and was shoving it under the wheel when I herd another car. I looked up to see a large truck with a snowplow blade on the front, perched as I had been at the top of the driveway. Oh no, I thought; even if I can move the car, I'm stuck!
But then, blessings on him, the guy got out and offered to pull me out. We got hooked up, and got started.
And that's when his truck got stuck. Remember that dip into the driveway from the circle? That equates to a steep little hill to get back out to the circle. Try to climb up and out is hard enough, without having a van to pull behind you through thick, heavy snow.
He and I shoveled the worst of the snow out of the way, trying to make it easier, but he just could not get up that little incline. So then the second angel appeared- in the form of my moms next-door neighbor, who has lots and lots of man-toys. One of them is a large 4WD truck with a tow chain. We attached that truck to the snowplow truck, and started again. The circle was well-plowed, and wet, but not icy; so after some more revving and cursing, we were on the move! Up and out!
The nice guy with the plow then tried to plow the drive, but the snow was so heavy and thick, he couldn't do too much. We managed to get some of the snow off the left-hand straight way, and make nice ruts to drive on, but not all the way to the parking area- in fact, the steep loop is currently blocked by the snow push pile. He kindly brought my mom out, though.
We are definitely replacing the Jeep, ASAP. You never know when we're going to have a winter like this.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The old joke
So my kids have been home since Friday, and today is Wednesday. Looks like tomorrow's school will be a wash, too. I'm not too hopeful for Friday. Oh, and they have Monday off. Our school system isn't even thinking about what days to use for make-ups until March!
Shopping to replenish supplies for ourselves and my mom yesterday, there were a lot of those "oh, no, the kids are home, AAAA!" jokes being passed around. Even one of the stockers smiled at me and conveyed condolences for having two little guys "stuck at home."
It was a huge reminder of how lucky I really am. I have two boys at home to hug, squish, smooch, and play games with. We can go sledding, play in the yard, and drink hot chocolate. We've had a marathon of Zoboomafoo, Wonder Pets, Peep, and Magic School Bus, sprinkled with Toy Story and Cars. We play Twister, Shopping Center, Feed the Kitty, Pushover. We're baking another cake today. I'm considering playdough.
Are we running out of things to do? Kind of. But don't send me any pity- I have two good, good boys, and we're enjoying ourselves today. Right now, they're pretending to be fish in the living room. Um, excuse me... I've just been told I'm a shark...
Shopping to replenish supplies for ourselves and my mom yesterday, there were a lot of those "oh, no, the kids are home, AAAA!" jokes being passed around. Even one of the stockers smiled at me and conveyed condolences for having two little guys "stuck at home."
It was a huge reminder of how lucky I really am. I have two boys at home to hug, squish, smooch, and play games with. We can go sledding, play in the yard, and drink hot chocolate. We've had a marathon of Zoboomafoo, Wonder Pets, Peep, and Magic School Bus, sprinkled with Toy Story and Cars. We play Twister, Shopping Center, Feed the Kitty, Pushover. We're baking another cake today. I'm considering playdough.
Are we running out of things to do? Kind of. But don't send me any pity- I have two good, good boys, and we're enjoying ourselves today. Right now, they're pretending to be fish in the living room. Um, excuse me... I've just been told I'm a shark...
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Prepping for Round II
We made sure Grandma had plenty of wood upstairs and non-perishable food to eat, in case she loses power again. The boys got to give her lots of hugs and kisses. They got to do some sledding there, and then some more on the hill at home. We replentished supplies of sweet yumminess for home. We're ready for KillStorm 2010 Part II.
Bring it on.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Snow snow snow snow snow
We have a saying here: if there is a high over New England and a Low in Atlanta, it is time to go to the Grocery Store. A Big Storm around here is six inches of snow. Twelve inches is Snowmageddon. KillStorm 2010 was about 15 inches here, about 20 down by my mom. So normally, tomorrow's storm would have caused raging panic. But on the heels of the Snowpocalypse, a prediction of 6-12 inches is now laughable.
All the same, after having my mom just survive 53 hours without power and spotty heat through the coldest temperatures of the winter, I'm a bit on the nervous side about tomorrow. We've had a bit of a roller-coaster here, and here comes our second time around in a week. All fine if you don't have to go anywhere and have your power. Not so great if either of those things are nixxed.
What a year to lose our Jeep.
All the same, after having my mom just survive 53 hours without power and spotty heat through the coldest temperatures of the winter, I'm a bit on the nervous side about tomorrow. We've had a bit of a roller-coaster here, and here comes our second time around in a week. All fine if you don't have to go anywhere and have your power. Not so great if either of those things are nixxed.
What a year to lose our Jeep.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
No power yet at mom's
33 Hours. No power yet. I managed to get out to her to get wood upstairs and stuff, but no power really, really sucks. Especially when the "estimate" was an hour ago, and there isn't even a truck in sight.
Update: They are now scheduling her for 10pm February 9. That's right- tomorrow.
Update: The trucks showed up at one, and the power was restored at 4. HALLELUJAH!!!! Really makes us wonder about getting her a generator, but then that could be just another bundle of troubles. :P
Update: They are now scheduling her for 10pm February 9. That's right- tomorrow.
Update: The trucks showed up at one, and the power was restored at 4. HALLELUJAH!!!! Really makes us wonder about getting her a generator, but then that could be just another bundle of troubles. :P
Snowpocalypse: Final Assessment
The snow lifted off about 5pm. Here's some pics from about 6pm. Waiting on word about my mom's power situation.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
KillStorm 2010: The Snowapocalypse
8 am of Saturday. We have 4-5 inches of very very very wet snow. It appears to be snowing more right now than all of yesterday.
EDIT: WE've had 8 more inches of the fluffier stuff. Made me glad I went out and got the heavy stuff shoveled up. But now mom's without power, and that' s bad.
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