On the Emerald Walk

Some time ago, I mentioned one of the haunts of my childhood, a place we called the Emerald Walk. It is a stretch of bank along the river covered in moss, where I grew up. The entrance to the Emerald Walk was an outcrop of rock we scrambled over, and it ended just before the island in the river began, walking upstream. I spent many hours along this little stretch of bank when I was young, and the world moved more slowly, and life was a lot more lonely.


This was the world before widespread computers, before internet stretched into homes, before cell phones were attached to many ears. None of those thing, by the way, make the world less lonely. Just more noisy.

The world of the Emerald Walk was one where summers lasted forever, and you could spend whole afternoons stretched out on the cool moss and watch the leaves turn in the eddies, minnows flash through the current, river grass bob and sway as if in the wind, and if you strolled a little way down to the stream, there were frogs and tadpoles and fool's gold, and nice fine sand for making mountains that looked like melted sugar. The sun sparkled on the water and danced on the moss, filtering down through a shifting coolness of thick green canopy. Places like this are disappearing fast in a world that prefers Walmarts, cell towers, and asphalt.


I took the boys to the Emerald Walk today. I wish I could say it was a glorious introduction to a world of peace, or at least boyish adventure, to my little guys. At least it was something new for them to think about, a place that, to me, still spoke of dragons and fairies and all manner of wonder.


Joey did discover the joys of throwing things into the river, including a few clumps of moss. He howled at having to deal with the saplings and brush and steep slope down and up, though. I need to recut the old deerpath down to our old starting point, so that the descent to the river is a little easier. They could then enter as we used to, by way of the rocks. I'm not sure how well Joey will rock-scramble, though, even at this rudimentary level. I also couldn't convince them to actually step into the water.


They did do some playing, too. Andy brought his box of plastic frogs with him, in anticipation of finding real ones, and real tadpoles. And Joey threw things into the water. Perhaps they did recognize a little of the magic of the greenworld, after all. At least so long as we weren't scaling the steep slope or having to press through brush and trees and slippery leaves. Or walk through spider webs.


It might have helped if we had actually found some pollywogs. Although there were many, many changes to the river- there always are- there was still a nice spot in the stream for a tadpole nursery, though we appear to be between clutches, or at the very start (where the eggs would still be small and hidden in the algae and stream vegetation). The boys did get into the spirit later, when I pulled out their wading pool on the deck, and they played "I'm an egg! Now I'm a tadpole! Now I'm a froglet! I'm a frog now!"* However, it also did not help for me to look down on this end of the bank, beyond the Emerald Walk, and realize all that green around our feet is actually poison ivy.


And I can't deny that seeing your children play in places you loved does hold some kind of magic, a look back to echoes of a past that now is lost. Or perhaps found.






*Yes, we thought of you, Team Stimey.

Baseball Adventures

Another weekend is upon us, so it must be time for baseball! Joey's Challenger's league teams up with the local high schools, and a high school player "buddies up" with a Challenger player to support them through the game. We get helpers from both Courtland and Spotsy, but mostly Courtland. All of Joey's helpers so far have been Courtland players.

Courtland played Spotsy at Courtland this evening, so Joey and I went to cheer on our friends. Now, this was a kind of odd situation. See, Joey's team is obviously Courtland, since all his helpers have been from there (and really, they have been fabulous!). But I went to high school at Spotsy. So it was very, very, very strange to be sitting in the Courtland stands, cheering for the boys in blue instead of big red. Very odd indeed.

We did get to see one of our friends make a home run, and another get on base. Joey was very excited about the home run. The game started after Joey's usual bedtime, so we only got to see a couple innings, but he insisted on getting a Courtland cap. It's always a good thing to support your friends.

Thank you, Courtland High School baseball. Go Cougars!

The Big Questions

Well, it happened. That day we tried hard to prepare ourselves for, watch for, warn others to try to avoid. But it was, unfortunately, inevitable. I wish it wasn't, but it is. A sad statement, that.

One of Joey's classmates thought it was funny to teach him to say "bitch." Then they thought it was hilarious to take around the room and have him repeat it to his classmates- who all laughed and thought it was funny. So Joey thought he was being funny, and went with it. I'm sure we all know that those kids were laughing at him, not with him.

What tools does Joey have to defend himself against such an attack? What does it say about our society that such an attack, child against child, would even be imaginable? Yet not only was it imaginable, we had already started trying to teach those skills of coping with anti-social behavior of others. Teasing. Bullying. Nastiness.

I am assured that there was discussion and teaching and correction all around, action taken, the substitute who was supposed to be with him spoken to, etc. etc. etc. Certainly Joey understood what had happened at some level by the time he came home and we talked about it, some with Grandma, some with me, some later at bedtime. We have not heard the word repeated here, other than when Grandma asked what had happened, and he explained to Grandma what had happened, including the detail of what the word was. We knew enough about the incident to fill in the blanks he had left in his description of the event.

All of these things are already in his IEP to address, but it leaves ringing in my brain the response to the goals: Our kids aren't like that, the new teacher insisted, backed up by another staff member of the new school. Sorry, folks, but this is a very small system. We have one school per level. Joey will be going to school with the same kids he is going to school with now. If your kids "aren't like that" now, get ready. It only takes one.

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

Andy and I were engaged in a new routine of bedtime activity, the Watching of the Videos. He loves him some Fuzzy Fuzzy Cute Cute, and Nigel Marven, and Walking with Dinosaurs: Live Edition. He's allowed three before storytime, and we were coming to the end of our third, a clip from Chased By Dinosaurs, when he burst into tears.

I was shocked. I stopped the film. He's seen the show a million bazillion times, its one of his favorites, and this clip is of funny bird-penguiny-things swimming around, and Nigel mentions most them do not live to a ripe old age because there are so many ways to be eaten in the Cretaceous oceans. Eaten? Uh-oh.

"I'm afraid I'm going to die!" he wailed, inconsolable.

Death has been a huge trigger around here since the fish died. Both little guys are having a lot of difficulty processing death and the loss of their fish, made worse by the fiasco of trying to replace them. Joey is constantly getting caught in cycles of talking about this person died, or that toy died, or his fish died. For the last two days, Andy has piped up and asked him to stop talking about dead things.

Then came the terrible blunder of our YouTube moments, one of the videos of silly dinosaurs included the eating of a pig, and Andy loves pigs. To get around this, I showed him the Warm Bath video, which he loves. He made the connection between the two pigs, and we finally settled on that the pig wasn't eaten, that he was just joking with the little dinosaur and drew a picture to fool him, and the big dinosaur carried the pig to the farmer to be put in the nice warm bath, and the big dinosaur burped because he thought burping was funny (see the video to see what I'm babbling about), and that's what happened. No eaten piggies.

Are you with me? Because now I have a child who, about to turn six years old, is suddenly petrified by death.

"I dont want to die! I don't want to go back to God!" How does one cushion the fear of death in a six-year-old? I haven't a clue, honestly. We did the best we could. We assured him that we love him, that he wasn't likely to die anytime soon, the God takes good care of all of us. And we love him, and do our best to keep him safe and help him learn to stay safe. And we love him. And Grandma wasn't going to die right away, and Mommy wasn't going to die right away, and Daddy was still here, and Joey was safe. And we love him.

It's the kind of discussion that makes you wander into his room and check to make sure he's OK every, oh, fifteen minutes. All night long. Just in case. Because we love him.

Connections: Bunnies

Mom just reminded me that I forgot to tell you guys: I have solved the mystery of why the Tooth Fairy is a blue bunny.


The reason is actually very simple. In 2008, when we got our first visit from the Blue Bunny, Joey was into blue. He liked bunnies. And he was into this:



The ice cream truck.

Mystery solved.

Keeping Us Awake

I worry when I get the sheet for gifted and talented screening for Andy and find it fits both boys to a T. Only they have never screened, nor offered to screen, Joey.

I worry when one of the teachers in Andy's room says things like, "He's such a delight!" because it implies that if he was disabled by his ADHD, he wouldn't be (especially in the context in which it is said). And the reason right now that he isn't disabled by his ADHD is because he had a totally rockin' teacher in there- the other teacher.

I worry when teachers at Joey's new school react to suggestions for Joey's program with "Oh, we've never had our teacher do that before." I especially worry when the suggestion is about providing him with social skills and language training- two fairly common needs for educating autistic kids.

I worry when the school SLP praises Andy's speech skills, when I have now seen and heard in him the company of whole rooms of peers, and can still hear how very different he sounds. Heaven forbid he get excited or upset, because then you can't understand him at all. (Did I mention the child has ADHD? Excited or upset happens a lot).

I worry when the discussion of ESY includes a program that had field trips every week, when every time he has a field trip at school, Joey gets off-kilter... often for days. Oh, and one of the weeks without an aide, in a room of 40 kids. I worry a lot.

I worry when the reaction to having IEP goals about coping with teasing are scoffed at ("we don't have that problem with our kids!"), only have a serious teasing incident not a week later. The kind you have to really mull and process before blogging about.

These are the days when I get little sleep.

Joey Hits the Ball

As The Mind Turns

Did you guess that it has been a long week?

I sit now, in a break from reading essays, curled in the bedroom chair, the cats asleep. One is sprawled over the bed, taking up the whole thing as only a cat (or small boy) can. The other has languidly spread herself over the top of the chair. With the boys downstairs, stillness reigns. It is an odd, rare moment here. The IEP is mostly done, and we take a breath before working on the ESY piece and putting together the material for fighting the OT piece. The job interview has come and gone, and I now find myself worrying about what I said or did or what I might need to do, for a job it is highly likely I will not get. The mind races, the wheels spin, and I begin to wonder what things I ought to be doing but haven't done yet, what should be done first in the long list of things that are needful.

The mind spins.

It is supposed to storm today. I can see the deepening grey of the clouds, the stark green of spring leaves against the gathering storm. The greying sky makes the new leaves seem almost neon, almost glowing in brilliance. You don't get that effect in summer. The light doesn't play through the older, darker greenery of summer in the same way. It's a spring thing.

I'm gearing up for summer. I know I have at least one week of both boys together, and one week of Joey alone. I wish I could get my embroidery machine up and running- the toy I asked for two Christmases ago now, and still haven't gotten far enough in life to even get out of the box- I could make merit patches for the boys to earn. If I knew how to get my own designs into the computer of the machine, of course. That first week we could do some traveling, I am putting some money away for it. Down to Williamsburg. Up to the zoo. The usual, familiar haunts to greet the coming of summer. We could put our feet into the water at Colonial Beach, maybe find some shark's teeth in Westmoreland Park. Or maybe we could find something new. That second week, it is time to send Andy off to camp, and find something for Joey. He did weather camp last year, and space camp, and vehicles. It is a little too soon to really ask him- we're almost two months out- but I need to start thinking about materials and projects and what we can do.

I've signed Andy up for t-ball and camps, and Joey looks like he'll have four weeks in a big school program, and I've requested at least two more weeks of programming of some kind for him. A five-week school hiatus in August would be a disaster. On the other hand, where they plunk those two weeks could be important for us; when will we go to the beach? Joey so loves the beach. Which school will I be working for? One semester starts sooner than the other.

Whirr, whirr, whirr.

What materials should I put together for Joey's new teachers? I wish they had several inclusion rooms, instead of just one for each level. Is there such a sharp drop-off in kids in special ed? I wonder if he's being "stuck" into an inclusion room instead of sent out into the "regular" rooms because he needs an aide, and they don't want to hire one. What happens if they find they need to send him out, for academic and/or social reasons? Should I have pressed for an aide? Should I have asked more questions? Who will be Joey's case manager in his new school? Why wasn't it made clear at the meeting?

I need to find something fun for Andy to be doing while we are at Joey's games. He's feeling left aside, the game is boring to him since he can't play in it. There are a few other siblings hanging around, maybe something can be organized for them. Some way they can participate and join in. There must at least be a way to let them know they are not forgotten. What do siblings normally do at the games of their brothers or sisters?

I need to go to the grocery store tonight. We're out of yogurt and cat food.

When does the spin cycle end?

This is Joey 2010

My Mighty Little Man. With guest appearance by Stimey.

Small Doings of a Weekend: Being Andy's Mom

With all the exciting things happening and moving and shaking in the world, and a blog called "Life with Joey", my writing often overlooks the other half of the world, that veritable bundle of giggles and bounce we named Andy. Joey had an IEP and a baseball game and a lost tooth and lots of things going on, but Andy has lots going on, too.

When I made my first blog, eons ago and now long gone, I took the name Joeymom, because there was no Andy. That's how long ago it was. It becomes second nature to answer to it, as often in store or school or sports event field, the call of, "Hey, Joey's Mom!" means me. So it was kind of odd but lovely to have an event this weekend in which I was "Andy's Mom."

Andy was invited to a birthday party. This is a regular occurrence with Andy, at least more so than with Joey. I'm always amazed by the awesome parties people give for their kids. We had one at Toddlin' Time quite a few years back, and it was awesome. But this one? Holy Cow. This was at a place called the Paragon, and its a gymnastics center. I didn't get a lot of good photos, though I got some fab film I might get together for you, because it was dark and the kids moved constantly for about, oh, two hours. Constantly. On trampolines. This was definitely Andy's kind of party. It was so great, Andy actually ate the pizza- crust and all- and the cake, not just the icing! How awesome is that?

What was really hilarious was that this party was for Andy's good friend K. K is a little girl, and we realized they were in Andy's first preschool class together- and she adored him then, too. See, they're both into dinosaurs. Yes, at 5, that is a huge attraction between two little ones. Apparently K calls Andy her "husband" at home, and has already announced their impending engagement. (Other than the dinosaurs, she's very... pink. Adorable. And pink. So it's really, really cute.)

We arrived at the party slightly early, because I'm like that, and the birthday girl arrived shortly thereafter with her family in two cars. As we watched them park, the mom almost leapt from her car to get K out of the other car- the child was so excited she had apparently tried to open the car door before the car had stopped- and K almost flew across the lot to Andy, squealing "Andy! Andy! Andy!" and upon reaching us, both of them bounced upon their toes and hand flapped in unison.

Please note that neither of these children is autistic. They were just that excited to see each other. They bounced in unison, then started running up and down the landscaped grass strip in front of the gym, which both I and K's mom were wise enough to allow, lest both children explode.

K followed Andy around the whole party. As long as Andy was doing it, K was into it, sometimes to her mom's apparent surprise- jumping, climbing, tumbling, off they went. Yes, she played with the other guests, but Andy had to be there. And Andy's height was only matched by a child four years older, who was there because his sister was there, and they were apparently cousins of K. A glorious time was had by all.

And did I mention Andy actually ate the cake?

I think I'm going to be in big trouble in, oh, ten years. Give or take.

Andy's Current Favorite Song Ever

Shoot me now.

Happy Opening Day for Little League

IEP: Signed, Sealed, Delivered

I don't often sign an IEP at the end of an IEP meeting. My usual modus operandi is to take it home, show JoeyAndyDad, discuss it with my mom, think about it some more, have some more conversations with JoeyAndyDad and mom, and then sign it, already compiling the issues for the next IEP meeting.

And I recommend this modus operandi to all of my readers. There is no hurry to sign an IEP, especially if the meeting was tense or ugly or uncomfortable. You can at least get a little of your own back by making them wonder if you're going to sign or sue. If you know what I mean.

But Joey has a case manager who rocks. She's got his back. She knows what to insist on, and insists on it, which has a heck of a lot more weight than me insisting on it, because she's school personnel and knows what she's doing and has been working with Joey for three years and has a pretty solid grasp of what he needs to access the curriculum and an appropriate education. What am I going to do next year without her? (Yes, I know I'll step up and get it done, but it sure is a lot easier to have someone in that room batting directly for Joey whom the school recognizes as an authority). She looks at the stuff I send her, she thinks about what I am saying and what I am observing, and adds it in to what she knows and sees and thinks about. She makes sure the bases get covered, the dots and crosses get where they need to be, and that what Joey needs is in that IEP.

I'm a little less enthused about the people we are going to, but that is not a surprise, and I am certainly willing to give them the chance to be trained in Joey. They are unprepared for his needs, but we knew that. They are not prepared for his learning style, but we knew that. They seem caught off-guard by autism generally, but we kind of knew that, too. So I currently plan to spend a lot of time at school in the fall.

I also will have a meeting in the first six weeks. Our glorious OT is going to try to release Joey from OT direct service in October. Sensory issues? Ha! Social skills? Why would that be under OT? Met his daily living skills goals? Um... only she has witnessed him independently buttoning his own clothes or tying his own shoes. No one else in the room has ever seen him do these things for himself on his own clothes (and buttoning someone else's buttons is very different than buttoning your own). Bilateral coordination and crossing midline? Why would anyone need to be able to do that? Gross motor activities? He can walk, can't he? Why should I expect more?

Right. Already have the independent eval in the works. This. Will. Not. Do. However, it is just a matter of getting the evals in hand and presenting it in the fall. Or even in a few weeks. I can call a meeting any time I feel like it. Yay, me.

But Mrs. H wrote a solid IEP, and insisted on certain levels and types of service that got put in the IEP itself, and accommodations for things (including SOLs, which we had been warned they might not give accommodations for), so I think we're on the right road to where we need to go. We'll take a few steps and then take a look around and see where we are.

Here Comes the IEP: Thoughts on a Meeting

I have a headache. The IEP is Friday. This is a big one- we are transitioning to a new school, one with people who don't know Joey. I have to find a way to translate what I see into terms of black and white, specific goals to be met, skills to be taught. I have to walk that line of what he cannot do, weighed with what he can; He is doing super-well, but he's still disabled. I have to get people to understand why functioning is important to educational progress. School people patting themselves on the back for how far he's come, and having to dampen that with how far we have to go.

Why can't Joey join in pretend games with other children? Why is that important to his academic progress? How do you explain the value of dynamic intelligence, of social inclusion, of being able to connect and remain connected? How do you explain intellectual development as more than reading, writing, and arithmetic, in a world where standardized testing reigns supreme?

Why can't Joey grasp the idea of history and time, when he can tell you exactly what time it is at any given moment? How do you express concern about teaching abstract concepts to a child who is so firmly concrete?

Why can't I get Joey to read at home, independently? Why can't I get him to focus on a book? What I can I do to help him understand the importance of being able to find information for himself? How do we instill a sense of imagination, so that he will better be able to problem-solve and think outside the box?

And how do I introduce this child to these new folks? Should I be assembling a set of notebooks, packed with information about autism and approaches to teaching? Do I need more than the latest set of evaluations, thin as that packet now is? Should I have called Kluge and had a full re-evaluation?

Then there is the looming battle of OT. I've already been given the heads' up that the OT wants to release him to "consult only." Yet I see so many issues, some of them even regressions. I can't get the private eval until May, so I won't have that piece of paper to fight this battle. Should I take a clip form kindergarden, place next to a clip from last month, and make that part of my powerpoint? I know Mrs. H will be there and have a plan for him, she'll be there to help, she'll be there for him, but next year, I'm on my own again, and we don't know who will be doing the program management, or if that person will care about Joey. Will this new school be more like this one, or more like the preschool? Will they have the skills to give Joey what he needs, or will I have to fight for training, service, understanding?

Farewell, frying pan. Namaste, Agni.

Upcoming Event: Here comes the IEP

I sit at the picnic table with my little notebook, making my scribblings, a story that sometimes runs through my head for developing, but nothing serious, a junk novelette for the fantasy section of dimestore bookrack. He runs up to me, looking tired, red in the face from the running, which is more like a toddler trot. He lays his head on the table, then perks up to take a sip of soda.

"How are you, Buddy?" I ask, as he looks hot. He grins.
"I'm OK." He pauses, takes another sip. "I am playing a game."
"Oh good!" I start in the praise, but he cuts me off.
"Use the arrow keys to move the Joey through the snappity-snap turtles. Press the space bar to jump." He runs off, with a funny gallop. It isn't skipping. Joey can't skip. He can't hop. He doesn't really run, not like other children his age, even the ones bad at sports. He can't crab-walk.

He re-appears, and starts doing the buttons on my sweater. This is an exciting moment, a new skill, he is showing off. They are large buttons, and he has a hard time getting them through, but he does it. I have never seen him do a button on himself.
"I did your buttons, Mommy!" the pronouncement is sharp, clear, full of pride.
"Good job, Buddy! Thank you!" He's gone again. I tried to put him in pants that he needed to snap and zip himself, but it was too much frustration for him. He zips his coat now, that's a good thing. But the snap was too much. I haven't really tried a button, pants buttons are too small for him yet.

They both appear, panting, and claim their new Zhu Zhu Pets. They turn and run off, Joey following the siren call of, "Come ON, Doey!" The words that follow this call are too unclear for me to decipher, but Joey seems to know what his brother is saying, and they are happy. Happy is good.

He is at the swings. Someone has a baby in the baby swings, and he pushes, ever so gently. He loves babies. He is talking to the mom, who doesn't mind that there are gaps between her questions and his answers, she gives him time to process, probably more because she is watching the baby than out of understanding of processing disorders, but it will do.
"I like Wow Wow Wubbzy!"
"Do you? That's nice. Who do you have there?"
"Widget."
"Is she a pink... um... rabbit?"
"And Wubbzy is a bear with a long tail!"
"Do you go to school?"
"I go to Hugh Mercer."
"Who is your teacher?"
"I have Mrs.H. Mrs. L's class, we did about ancient Egypt."
"So you have Mrs. L?"
"We read about George Washington!"
Not bad. On topic, real responses, mostly nice grammar. It is the gaps, which I cannot really reproduce here, that stand out and make it clear that this conversation is not ordinary. I know the woman picks up on it, because she glances quizzically at me, but I won't say anything unless she comes over to ask. Some do. Some don't. That's fine.

He is trying to play with the other children; Andy and two other little boys, who are about Andy's size, so probably Joey's age. I quickly discern the game involves a bad guy, Star Wars, guns, and a lot of hiding behind trees. Joey walks up to one of the kids, I can't hear what is said, but the look on the child's face screams confusion and annoyance. Another child tries to get Joey to hide behind a tree. Joey wanders off. Andy tries making him the bad guy and shooting at him. Joey gets upset, he doesn't want sticks pointed at him, and runs back to me, crying.
"Andy is killing me! I don't want to be dead! I died!" Oh no, I think. Our trigger is tripped. The rest of the day is sprinkled liberally with pronouncements of the death of various toys, and how long they will be dying ("My Zhu Zhu Pet died for twenty years! He's dead! But he got better, he's better now.").

Joey has had enough. The frustration is getting to him. Sometimes he will lay on the merry-go-round and play in the dirt to calm down, but there are bigger kids there now, and they have it whirling about at a big-kid speed. He calls to Andy. I gather up the pile of small toys and sticks that has accumulated around my position at the picnic table. We wander towards the car. He's come so far, I remind myself deliberately. So far. So far. So far.

So far to go.

Bad News from the Shop.

It has been brought to my attention that CafePress is donating 10% of sales of anything marked "autism" to Autism Speaks through the end of April. Upon inquiry, this includes a number of other autism-related tags as well. We were not given any notice about this "promotion", nor were we asked for permission.

As you may realize, April is for autism-related products what the Christmas season is to most other retailers: the high season, when you make your money, if you are going to make any money all year. I get 10% of the sales of CafePress products through my shop. Through most of the year, I make enough to cover the cost of the shop (because I have multiple designs, etc., I do have a "premium shop"). Usually from February through April, I make enough to cover a few sessions of speech therapy for Joey.

I must leave it to you to make a decision about purchasing from the shop this month. Does 10% to Joey balance out against 10% to Autism Speaks? If you would prefer not to support Autism Speaks, but were intending to purchase something from the shop, my advice is to wait until May, to be extra-doubly-sure we are out of this "promotion" period. If you are searching for my products this month, the only products you will be able to find searching for "autism" are the items which actually have "autism" in the caption/design (assuming the tag changes take effect). My apologies.

I have tried a number of other sites of this kind, but CafePress is the only one that has been self-sustaining and actually pays real money- I have actually received real checks, not just promises that I might get one someday if my design is super-popular, or get "paid" in site-"cash" that can only be used to buy stuff from the site.

EDIT: I have been informed by CafePress that the "fundraiser" will end April 17.

A Birthday Celebration, Boy Style

We started our Birthday Bash at our favorite of favorite places, Chuck E. Cheese! We went first thing, because it gets a little crowded on Saturdays. Joey even got a score of 230,000 on skee ball!

Then we got to play baseball! Joey is very happy to be playing in the blue team (the Yankees to the rest of us).

JoeyAndyDad showed Joey a bit about throwing the ball. Joey loves fielding the ball, so we're going to be practicing throwing and catching.

Joey also got a batting lesson, and tried to hit a few pitches (before they brought the T out for him). It was very exciting!

Joey loves running around the bases!

Joey on second base, awaiting the next hit.

Then he got mac and cheese at Ruby Tuesday! Yummy! It was a great birthday lunch.

We went home for cake and presents. Grandma made an awesome Buzz Lightyear cake. It was delicious.

Joey got lots of great presents (lots of Buzz Lightyear, Wow Wow Wubbzy, and a cool clock that projects space themes on the ceiling) and his favorite... Andy got him his very own Zhu Zhu Pet!

It was a really happy birthday!

Happy Birthday, Joey!

Our mighty little man turns eight today. Happy Birthday, Buddha Buddy.

Autism Bazaar

Come support the shop. It's autism awareness month. You know you want a bumper sticker or a button or something with this on it. Come on by.

Before the Rain

So today was the last of the heat wave, before we return to normal spring temperatures. Tonight, we are expected to have some whopper storms as the cold front comes through. Tomorrow, wet and chilly. So I decided to take advantage of the sunshine, the warm, and get the boys up out of bed and to the zoo.

Then Andy decided to sleep in, for once. Until 9. If you know anything about the zoo, you know that you kinda need to be there at 8:30 to get a parking spot, which would have meant getting up at 7 for us, the usual time my boys are bouncing into their clothes. So, no zoo. But very rested, very bouncy children. What to do, what to do.

My mom came up with an idea of pure brilliance- one of the parks we don't usually use had some new play equipment up, why don't we grab some lunch and check it out? And I would just like to say, thank you, Mom. Because it was an absolutely glorious afternoon.

We grabbed some sandwiches from the downtown deli, something I don't plan to repeat. They turned out to be expensive and not very good. But kids don't care when there is New Park To Be Explored. Fortunately, I also had chips and sodas in the back of the van, so it was totally awesome. We went down, munched our lunches, and ran around like wild things. The equipment is gorgeous... and dinosaur-themed. Totally. Rocked. Then they discovered there is a little creek running through the park neat the equipment, and that mommy doesn't mind boys getting muddy and dirty, so there were Adventures To Be Had. There were also plenty of kids (we almost didn't get a parking spot there, either!), and I had plenty of little ones to watch and families to be entertained by. I usually do some "writing" when we go to the park, but I never managed to get my pen out today, too much to see, so many little ones being so adorable.

When we got bored with that, we took a stroll, and discovered another little playground with slightly older equipment just out of sight- fewer kids, but that meant it was quieter, and it turns out the other kids who had discovered the area were ones that liked playing with my kids. More adventures! More exploration! More bouncing!

We were at the New Park for over four hours. We went through half a case of soda, and would have gone through more if we had taken some on our stroll (which we would have done if we had known there was more equipment). Next time, I'll know to come equipped with water and apples. We'll see how long the charm lasts of having this park in the Regular Visit rotation.

But now, the rain. So tomorrow, the library.


As an aside, I've been doing some cooking. Kinda.

WhyMommy Virtual Science Fair Edition

We support the Team WhyMommy Virtual Science Fair, because WhyMommy totally totally rocks, and we want her to know: we love you. Thank you for being an awesome mom and a cool person. We haven't actually met, but you've been a huge help to me and to my family. Thank you.


I had out some other experiments to do with my guys for the WhyMommy Virtual Science Fair, and we'll do those, but it may be Thursday. Or Friday. Or maybe next week. Because today was too beautiful to be inside doing boxed science experiments- it was sunny, it was warm, and the petting zoo called to us. Oh, and Yoder's Store. So instead of learning about magnets and stuff, we went out into the world and learned about some of our favorite things: goats, chickens, and ducks (and other assorted fowl).


What did we learn today? Well, we learned that goat tongues stick tickle when they lick corn off your hand. We learned that baby goats know better than to get in the way of big goats when there is a prospect of corn involved. We learned that if you feed enough corn to the big goats, they get full enough that they make room for the baby goats. Oh, and Andy decided he really loves baby goats. That's my boy!


Joey learned that chickens make noise, and there are lots of different kinds of chickens; including one with feathers all over its head, like a big mop! He also learned not to throw corn at the chickens, but to toss it in. He learned that chickens also like to eat grass and chickweed (the boys also learned that ducks LOVE to eat grass and chickweed- much more than they like corn). He learned that if you bark at a rooster, it might crow at you. He also learned that it is not easy to pet a chicken.


Andy learned that if you put a quarter into the vending machine, it gives you cracked corn. He learned that Mommy is smart enough to bring a whole roll of quarters with her when she knows they are going to go feed goats. He also learned how to reach into Mommy's pocket himself when she was busy in order to get a quarter.





This place also has one of those fun goat ramps where you put the corn in a little cup and run it up to a platform where the goat awaits the feast. and get plenty of exercise and climbing in to get to said platform. Andy thought this was hilarious. My mom noted that a goat is supposed to eat about two cups of grain a day. The goat that braved the ramp while Andy was there got about two cups of food in about fifteen minutes.





We did learn that you pull on one side to the rope to send the cup up, and the other side to bring it back down, so we got to learn about pulleys. Kind of. Sending the cup up and down was the most fun ever. I finally had to encourage him to go feed some of the other poor, starving goats.





Joey is getting bolder about petting the goats and being near the animals. He loves animals, and he loves touching them, but they move in unpredictable (for him) and sudden ways, and that can make Joey very anxious. Today, he actually patted the goats' heads and ears without a lot of fuss, and held his hand steady to feed them without my help or prompting. That was pretty exciting, because tickling goat tongues on your palm can be pretty intense. Joey learned that some goats have soft heads and velvety noses, and that the noses of goats are not wet.


He learned that if you have a hand full of corn, the goats come over to see you faster. He learned that goats also like grass and chickweed. He was impressed that some of the goats had horns. He was very quiet and gentle with the animals today, not squealing and pulling back and making sudden jumps like he used to. We had zero tracking of the fences today!




Andy learned that chickens are soft and feathery. When Grandma asked him what they felt like, he answered, "meat." I assume that means they felt delicious... (?) He was very excited to actually touch a chicken. He also had a look at the turkeys and pheasants, though they are harder to get good pics because of all the chicken wire (to keep the foxes out). My guys are still a bit traumatized by turkeys.




Hey mom, can I have another quarter?

















Hi, Stimey! (Peepie visits his ancestral home)