My Morning

Conversations with Motormouth

Motormouth: Mom, I'm tired of this old PSP. I need a new one!
Me: (taking a deep breath) That is an incredibly spoiled, selfish sounding thing to say. Your's works fine, but if you have $130 feel free to buy another one. In the mean time, if it would help, I can take your's so you don't have to suffer playing an "old" one.

......

Motormouth: I have questions. What was that guy's name again? Where was he shot? Why?
Me: (another deep breath) Osama Bin Laden.
Motormouth: He was eeeeevil. In your face Bin Laden.
Me: NO! Don't be like that. Yes. He was very evil, but we should never be happy that someone is dead. You don't have to be sad, but don't be happy either.
Motormouth: So, where was he shot and why?
Me: Pakistan. In the Middle East. He was killed because he planned an organized the death of thousands on 9/11. And you just can't do that. America protects it's people whenever possible.
Motormouth: No, I meant WHERE was he shot?
Me: yeah, I know. I'm not getting into that with you because it doesn't matter. Dead is dead. You can't take it back.
...............
Motormouth: Oh, I forgot to tell you. The carpet in the basement is all wet. I noticed a couple of days ago but didn't tell you because I needed to play with my Legos.
Me: (taking a deep breath and praying I can hold it until I pass out) THAT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU DON'T TELL SOMEONE.
..........................................
Me: Where is your jacket, the bus will be here.
Motormouth: I dunno.
Me: it's not on the coat hook. Yesterday you came home and left your shoes and jacket on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. I told you to come pick them up and put them where they belong. Where do you think that is?
Motormouth: I really don't know!!
Me (still holding my breath, because it's working so well for me right now) Go. Check. Your. Room.
Motormouth: It's not in here.
Me: your bus is here.....Wait! Don't go out yet! (turning to grab a long sleeve sports jersey off the clean laundry stack. *BANG* front door slams shut and he runs outside and jumps on the bus. It's 43 degrees.)


I would just like to say that his jacket was spread out right in front of his door in his room. He must have been standing on it when he went in to look. The basement carpet is indeed wet and I don't know where it's coming from. Oh, and G just left for a couple days.

This tooth fairy doesn't work for it....or accessorize.

G's away for a couple days and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I'm not used to that anymore. I laid in bed trying to fall asleep and just drifted off when I woke up remembering that Motormouth had lost a tooth and I needed to do the tooth fairy thing. Since he and I had just discussed who the tooth fairy actually was, I toyed with the idea of just staying in bed and making the exchange in the morning. My Bad Mommy Guilt finally drove me out of bed. I get in his room and successfully navigate the obstacle course of dirty clothes, Legos and various other sharp objects just waiting to be stepped on. I make it to his desk (the previously agreed upon exchange spot) and: Nothing. I check his end table: Nothing. I search around quietly for a few minutes and give up. This morning he comes out and demands to know why I didn't make the trade. I respond by telling him that what I said last night was true; that if I couldn't find it, I wasn't paying for it, and that the tooth wasn't where it was supposed to be and I wasn't going to spend all night searching for it. He wonders if he can trade his tooth for cash this morning. Sure. He then asks what I do with the tooth. When I tell him that I throw them away he says "oh, I thought the tooth fairy made a necklace out of them."

Not this tooth fairy.

Don't make me feed him goldfish crackers and unleash him on you.

We've lived here for three years now. That means a lot of things, mostly that G and I are dying to move, but also that the kids are due for eligibility reevaluations at their schools. I wasn't on the ball with Motormouth's school, and let them do the re-eval, and they are wanting to change his eligibility from ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorders) to some stupid 'dual' eligibility (because they don't argue that he has Autism, just not enough). That's another story, though, and I won't bore you with it. I called Monkey's school and told his teacher that I wanted to decline the eligibility re-evaluation (they have to be done every three years to determine placement in Special Education, UNLESS the school and the parents agree that there is no need. I can't imagine them deciding that Monkey doesn't have Autism, so I don't want to give them the chance). She called me back after a week and said that it was okay, so I'm assuming that means the school doesn't question his eligibility either, thank God. She then proceeded to tell me that they would still have to do 'some' testing and observations with him to satisfy the MET requirements, yada yada yada. At this point I'm a little suspicious of everything the district is saying, so interrupt her with the following:

Me: I guess I'm okay with you doing what you need to in order to 'check the box' on the paperwork, but I will need you to inform me in advance what days the testing and observations will be done.

Teacher: oh...sure...I guess we can do that, how much notice are you needing?

Me: at least the day before. I feel that if you are going to be observing and testing him, then you should be getting a true look at Monkey without the supports he has in place for his Autism. The main support piece that we provide at home for him is keeping him on his strict GF/CF diet, which as you know, helps him control his behavior, sit still and focus, among other things- and I feel that we would need to take him off his diet for you to really get a feel for what Monkey's special needs REALLY are....you are probably going to want to get everything done in one day. He's going to be a complete mess (shrieking, flailing, hysterical mess) and so I really don't want to subject him to feeling so out of control longer than absolutely necessary. Okay?

Teacher: um...you know....let me talk to the Social Worker. She knows Monkey pretty well, maybe we don't have to do all that....let me find out what we REALLY need to have for this before we jump into testing...*nervous laugh*.

Me: why don't you do that and get back to me.

Holly Robinson Peete, you should know better

I'm home watching daytime television, which is something I don't normally get to do. I'm watching this new talk show called "The Talk" which from what I can tell is a knock off of the View. I'm interested because it has Holly Robinson Peete on it, who is the mom of a son with Autism, and she is doing this segment about a mom with three boys with Autism. It shows her three sons and they talk about her day to day life and how difficult it is for her sons. Then they show that she is there in the studio, with one of the boys on the spectrum, and this other teenage boy. Turns out this is the older brother, whom was not mentioned at all during the segment. That's not all, but they go on to say that there is another older brother who is also not on the spectrum. Instead of being a mom of three boys with Autism, she is actually a single mom of 5 boys. Okay, I'm with you Holly. Holly then asks the typical teenager how life is for him in this environment, which I thought was nice because the typical kids are generally invisible in a household with special needs siblings. That's when the whole thing comes off the rails. It starts out with the show giving this mom some stuff to help her out, which is what you are expecting to happen. It was all harmless enough, a hospital was going to pay for her kids to get reevaluated, which is an expensive undertaking, so that was cool. A company was going to help her with some financial planning and help her set up a special needs trust...that was cool too. Then Holly starts passing out the iPads. Yes, the iPads are proving to be great for non-verbal kids, and they have really cool specialized Apps for kids with Autism. They might actually help give her non-verbal kids a voice, which is priceless. My problem is that you are throwing those around and everyone is cheering and that poor typical brother gets squat. Then they threw in a shopping spree from Toys R Us differently-abled toy catalog so she can buy whatever she wants for her sons with Autism. Fantastic, I'm sure the other two don't mind getting passed over, AGAIN. Then to top it all off, she then hands the youngest son with Autism a gift basket of toys because 'he likes Nascar'. I just thought it was really thoughtless to shower that mom with gifts for only a few of her children. I'm done complaining now.

The story of why SSG Grumpypants ran to the store himself.

SSG G: Can you run to the store and buy some pancake mix?

Me: I'll just make some.

SSG G: I don't like them from scratch, I like the mix.

Me: you have got to be kidding me. Besides the insult to my cooking, what happened to 'the car repairs were more than we thought, no unnecessary purchases'?

SSG G: Okay, what I really want is a soda, but I didn't think you would go for 'hey I worked all day, could you go get me a pop'?

Me: over not wanting to eat my cooking? yeah, good choice.

SSG G: (turning to our kid's ABA therapist that just entered the room) Hey Kristen, would you go get me a pop?

Kristen: No. (have I mentioned that I love this girl?)

Me: I would have gone and gotten you a pop. Twerp.

Mini-Me

Motormouth: look mom, those people are on TV and famous. I wish we were famous.

Me: I don't.

Motormouth: Really??? Why not?

Me: I wouldn't want everyone to know me and where I live, I guess.

Motormouth: But you could make.....One Thousand Dolllars! You don't want a thousand dollars??

Me: I'll pass, Dr. Evil.

What just happened? No really. Explain it to me.

I just watched my husband lay on the floor in the hall outside my son's bedroom door and pass his pajamas back and forth under the door while my son screamed "No pajamas!" followed by "Gimme back my jamas!!" for about 40 minutes. The fact that we really didn't care if he wore pajamas or slept in his jeans was lost on him. He continued to yell that he didn't want to wear pajamas nonstop until he abruptly announced mid-yell that he needed to go to the bathroom. I open his bedroom door to let him out and found him standing at the door, wearing the pajamas (that he is NOT wearing, Mommy!!) and holding all his dirty clothes. He marches to the bathroom, throws his clothes in the hamper, looks at me with red-rimmed puffy eyes and asks for help brushing his teeth.