Leelo and his Mom on a Shitty Day
**I just found this one in the draft pile and am publishing it so that the bits won't get lost.**
I haven't been writing much about Leelo lately.
Sad about IEP. Need to call in AM.
But good:
Asking, "What's your name?"
Me: "My name is Mommy. What's your name?"
Leelo: "My name is Leelo."
Wow.
Also being good at the dentist--not great, but incrementally better. He allowed the dentist to take brief looks in his mouth, and kept trying. She didn't really get to touch his teeth, but she was able to observe happy plaque colonies and give us advice on how to deal with them since he's apparently not letting us brush his teeth as thoroughly as is needed: put a small glob of fluoridated toohpaste on the tip of your finger, then run in all over the surfaces of his teeth. The latest research shows that this low level of fluoride will create a decent enough bond with the teeth's enamel to block out most cavity-forming bacteria.
Dr. A also said that she has faith that Leelo will improve and will eventually comply voluntarily. She has older patients like Leo who have gone through the same behavioral arc.
Eating beef! Well, Buffalo. Seymour minced it and mixed it up with his almond butter and he ate it! He has never ever ever ever ever ever ever eaten meat before!
Overall being very sweet. Asking for us, gentle hugs, kisses, head on shoulder while sitting on couch. Feeling happy with our boy.
So it is sad to hear that Supervisor M is skeptical of our upcoming IEP, and thinks things are being handled shoddily by the school district. I am such a dolt, I thought we were getting everything we wanted and that there was nothing else to discuss--that we would merely be confirming the items previously discussed. But she is an expert and has actually attended many IEPs whereas I have been to a grand total of two, each of which was more of a tea party than a serious meeting. She thinks we should bring an advocate. She thinks we need to spend more than just 60 minutes hashing out Leelo's support for the year. She gently reminded me that they SD needs to provide a concrete agenda, and concrete learning goals.
8.06.2006
Funnier Than Shit
Funnier Than Shit
You know what made The Aristocrats even more painfully, gut-bustingly funny than its own disgusting self? The fact that as I watched it, I knew that my dad had made my mom sit through the entire film because dammit, he had free tickets.
As long as we're being scatalogical, my thanks to SJ for telling me about the Flickr tag firsttubgirl. Asshole-san, I learn so much from you.
And as long as your senses are being assaulted, why don't you watch the Marimba Ponies as my mom made me do while she was here this weekend.
You know what made The Aristocrats even more painfully, gut-bustingly funny than its own disgusting self? The fact that as I watched it, I knew that my dad had made my mom sit through the entire film because dammit, he had free tickets.
As long as we're being scatalogical, my thanks to SJ for telling me about the Flickr tag firsttubgirl. Asshole-san, I learn so much from you.
And as long as your senses are being assaulted, why don't you watch the Marimba Ponies as my mom made me do while she was here this weekend.
Thomas Is a Friend of Leelo's
Thomas Is a Friend of Leelo's
Originally uploaded by Squid Rosenberg.
Big sister Emily is a friend, too. Merely a more camera-shy friend.
Want your kids to be the coolest ones on the playground? Get them their own Leelo shirts! I will donate $10 for every photo posted to this set.
My thanks to Thomas's mom Mary Tsao for being so hep and generous.
Originally uploaded by Squid Rosenberg.
Big sister Emily is a friend, too. Merely a more camera-shy friend.
Want your kids to be the coolest ones on the playground? Get them their own Leelo shirts! I will donate $10 for every photo posted to this set.
My thanks to Thomas's mom Mary Tsao for being so hep and generous.
8.04.2006
Whole Lotta Transitions
Whole Lotta Transitions
Today is Leelo's last day of preschool. It is also the last day I'll do the daily drive to Deadwood Shores, because Leelo will be attending the local public Behavioral kindergarten in 17 days. Yes!!! I am relieved to have that extra forty minutes of round-tripping bumped out of our schedule. And I know my commute was a bunny hop compared to most of the parents there--some drive in from as far as SF.
Today is Iz's last day of camp. Local camp. Tomorrow she goes to Seattle for two weeks, including one week of *cough, hack, hurl* ballet camp with her cousin Leigh. Thankfully this is the last year she can go to this camp without having to do a qualifying dance.
Say what you will about the beauty and discipline of ballet--I think it is a life-long boot camp for body image mindfucking, and I do not want my daughter to be a part of it. She might be strong-minded enough to deflect the ongoing insults to her appearance, but I'm not willing to gamble her considerable self-esteem and confidence so that she can look pretty in a tutu.
Last night Seymour and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary with a dinner so delicious that my writing cannot do it justice: We had tripe and lobster knuckles and shoat and huckleberries, and were you there you would have cried over every bite.
Seymour defied my standing order against jewelry and presented me with the World's Most Beautiful Necklace. I presented him with some homemade coupons (I will leave you to imagine what he can redeem them for, but two contained the image of Will Riker) and ass-rattling music in the language of his bloodstream.
We looked out at the ocean and talked. I came away greatly reassured about life in general and this upcoming year in particular. He is so swoony and dreamy and wonderful.
And he's going to be away for most of the next two weeks.
Today is Leelo's last day of preschool. It is also the last day I'll do the daily drive to Deadwood Shores, because Leelo will be attending the local public Behavioral kindergarten in 17 days. Yes!!! I am relieved to have that extra forty minutes of round-tripping bumped out of our schedule. And I know my commute was a bunny hop compared to most of the parents there--some drive in from as far as SF.
Today is Iz's last day of camp. Local camp. Tomorrow she goes to Seattle for two weeks, including one week of *cough, hack, hurl* ballet camp with her cousin Leigh. Thankfully this is the last year she can go to this camp without having to do a qualifying dance.
Say what you will about the beauty and discipline of ballet--I think it is a life-long boot camp for body image mindfucking, and I do not want my daughter to be a part of it. She might be strong-minded enough to deflect the ongoing insults to her appearance, but I'm not willing to gamble her considerable self-esteem and confidence so that she can look pretty in a tutu.
Last night Seymour and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary with a dinner so delicious that my writing cannot do it justice: We had tripe and lobster knuckles and shoat and huckleberries, and were you there you would have cried over every bite.
Seymour defied my standing order against jewelry and presented me with the World's Most Beautiful Necklace. I presented him with some homemade coupons (I will leave you to imagine what he can redeem them for, but two contained the image of Will Riker) and ass-rattling music in the language of his bloodstream.
We looked out at the ocean and talked. I came away greatly reassured about life in general and this upcoming year in particular. He is so swoony and dreamy and wonderful.
And he's going to be away for most of the next two weeks.
8.03.2006
Bad Moms Muthafuckas Coffee
Once again I have heard or read of people saying that they didn't feel comfortable asking to come to our weekly coffee gathering because 1) They are strangers and 2) They aren't parents.
Well, hell. If you read our blogs then you know more about us than most of our non-blogging IRL friends. And besides me yelling at Mali to not run into the parking lot, there was precious little parenting talk going on this morning. Besides, I didn't know Liz Ditz or Mary Tsao before they came to coffee; now I look forward to seeing them every week.
I think we should shorten the title to BM Coffee, for the snickering when we say it if nothing else.
Well, hell. If you read our blogs then you know more about us than most of our non-blogging IRL friends. And besides me yelling at Mali to not run into the parking lot, there was precious little parenting talk going on this morning. Besides, I didn't know Liz Ditz or Mary Tsao before they came to coffee; now I look forward to seeing them every week.
I think we should shorten the title to BM Coffee, for the snickering when we say it if nothing else.
A Sexier Blogroll
A Sexier Blogroll
Another overheard at BlogHer: Melissa Gira from Sacred Whore mentioned how frequently people tell her that they read her blog religiously, but "can't put her on their blogroll."
Well, there's not a damn reason I can't. Melissa is smart as hell and I look forward to visiting her site every day.
Another overheard at BlogHer: Melissa Gira from Sacred Whore mentioned how frequently people tell her that they read her blog religiously, but "can't put her on their blogroll."
Well, there's not a damn reason I can't. Melissa is smart as hell and I look forward to visiting her site every day.
Down
Down
It has been a moody week. Our remodel hit another major roadblock ($ & time), and Leelo's IEP and school entry process suddenly turned from smooth to convoluted. The phone calls informing me of these two developments came within an hour of each other, on Monday morning while I was grumping about being at home with non-conversationalists Mali and Leelo (Therapist Y was vacationing), still moping about missing Badger's WoolfCamp, and trying to figure out why BlogHer spun my tail around so badly. Five bad moods for the price of one!
But there are few things as soporific as someone else's depression, unless they're a great writer or you're a great listener. So instead I'll relate a story about why scenarios like BlogHer freak me to the bone:
When a good friend of Seymour's got married eleven years ago, he asked my husband to be in the wedding party. I love Seymour and I liked his friends, so I was excited to go to another one of their gatherings.
However, upon arriving at the ceremony I realized that the groom didn't invite anyone I knew besides my partner, who would be sitting with the wedding party. I started to panic, but was able to keep my freaking under control by reassuring myself that the reception would of course have assigned seating.
Wrong.
I arrived at the reception (bustling, lovely, lively) to discover that seating was a free-for-all. My stomach started to roil, but I swallowed a few times, looked around, and spied a gentleman to whom I'd been introduced a couple of times. I didn't really like him, because he was a cocky dickface who liked to boast about living with a cage-free Burmese python. But he was my one Known in the room, so I summoned all my courage and asked him if I could sit at his table.
He said No. And not kindly, either.
I am not sure what happened after that, but I know I bolted. Somehow I ended up sobbing in the car by myself. Eventually Seymour came looking for me (fucking up his groomsman duties) and took me home.
The wedding could have gone differently. I could have asked Seymour to help me pair up with a friend of his before the reception. Or at the reception!
BlogHer had some whiffs of that wedding. Large groups of people, some structure, but mostly reliant on one's own networking abilities. Of which I have few. I spent the entire time either being the personal remora to accommodating friends, or being too paralyzed to approach anyone who might tell me "No."
BlogHer could have gone differently, too. I could have done some research beforehand as to what panels I really wanted to attend. I could have reached out beforehand or during to other bloggers I admire and asked to meet up with them so as to not have to worry about what table to sit at during unstructured intervals. I could have followed my instincts and gone to panels like Identity and Obligation (which apparently rocked) instead of MommyBlogging (legitimate, but WTF made me go? Most Mommies are squirmily uncomfortable about Leelo, and I am straightforwardly disinterested in typical or mainstream parenting).
Anyhow. I am tailspinning a bit, as previously mentioned. I intend to work it off tonight by celebrating my 11th wedding anniversary with my wonderful, patient spouse at a shmancy restaurant on the coast. Where we have reservations and I know exactly where and with whom I'll be sitting.
It has been a moody week. Our remodel hit another major roadblock ($ & time), and Leelo's IEP and school entry process suddenly turned from smooth to convoluted. The phone calls informing me of these two developments came within an hour of each other, on Monday morning while I was grumping about being at home with non-conversationalists Mali and Leelo (Therapist Y was vacationing), still moping about missing Badger's WoolfCamp, and trying to figure out why BlogHer spun my tail around so badly. Five bad moods for the price of one!
But there are few things as soporific as someone else's depression, unless they're a great writer or you're a great listener. So instead I'll relate a story about why scenarios like BlogHer freak me to the bone:
When a good friend of Seymour's got married eleven years ago, he asked my husband to be in the wedding party. I love Seymour and I liked his friends, so I was excited to go to another one of their gatherings.
However, upon arriving at the ceremony I realized that the groom didn't invite anyone I knew besides my partner, who would be sitting with the wedding party. I started to panic, but was able to keep my freaking under control by reassuring myself that the reception would of course have assigned seating.
Wrong.
I arrived at the reception (bustling, lovely, lively) to discover that seating was a free-for-all. My stomach started to roil, but I swallowed a few times, looked around, and spied a gentleman to whom I'd been introduced a couple of times. I didn't really like him, because he was a cocky dickface who liked to boast about living with a cage-free Burmese python. But he was my one Known in the room, so I summoned all my courage and asked him if I could sit at his table.
He said No. And not kindly, either.
I am not sure what happened after that, but I know I bolted. Somehow I ended up sobbing in the car by myself. Eventually Seymour came looking for me (fucking up his groomsman duties) and took me home.
The wedding could have gone differently. I could have asked Seymour to help me pair up with a friend of his before the reception. Or at the reception!
BlogHer had some whiffs of that wedding. Large groups of people, some structure, but mostly reliant on one's own networking abilities. Of which I have few. I spent the entire time either being the personal remora to accommodating friends, or being too paralyzed to approach anyone who might tell me "No."
BlogHer could have gone differently, too. I could have done some research beforehand as to what panels I really wanted to attend. I could have reached out beforehand or during to other bloggers I admire and asked to meet up with them so as to not have to worry about what table to sit at during unstructured intervals. I could have followed my instincts and gone to panels like Identity and Obligation (which apparently rocked) instead of MommyBlogging (legitimate, but WTF made me go? Most Mommies are squirmily uncomfortable about Leelo, and I am straightforwardly disinterested in typical or mainstream parenting).
Anyhow. I am tailspinning a bit, as previously mentioned. I intend to work it off tonight by celebrating my 11th wedding anniversary with my wonderful, patient spouse at a shmancy restaurant on the coast. Where we have reservations and I know exactly where and with whom I'll be sitting.
8.02.2006
On BlogHer and Beauty
On BlogHer and Beauty
As I was skulking around the edges of BlogHer, hiding behind my book and iPod, I did a lot of observing. And mooning over all the women who were knock-me-on-my ass beautiful. But they weren't necessarily fashion mag or comic book stereotypes; in fact most of them weren't, because 99.5% of us aren't. What was their intangible, then? What was it that made me ache to be one of those compelling women?
A couple of days later, I figured it out. Every person I wanted to stalk had shitloads of genuine confidence--or had at least leased some for the conference. Yeow, baby. Must find out where I can buy some for myself.
I think this explains why I dislike obvious and abusively elective plastic surgery, because to me it represents either a lack or an erosion of confidence. But I don't think that chosen nips and tucks are necessarily evil, either. Two friends from high school had nose jobs done either before or shortly after their senior years--I am guessing because their generous noses were the first and sometimes the only thing people noticed about them. The surgery transformed more than their faces--both had huge surges in confidence afterwards. It was beautiful. They were beautiful.
The women at BlogHer were beautiful.
As I was skulking around the edges of BlogHer, hiding behind my book and iPod, I did a lot of observing. And mooning over all the women who were knock-me-on-my ass beautiful. But they weren't necessarily fashion mag or comic book stereotypes; in fact most of them weren't, because 99.5% of us aren't. What was their intangible, then? What was it that made me ache to be one of those compelling women?
A couple of days later, I figured it out. Every person I wanted to stalk had shitloads of genuine confidence--or had at least leased some for the conference. Yeow, baby. Must find out where I can buy some for myself.
I think this explains why I dislike obvious and abusively elective plastic surgery, because to me it represents either a lack or an erosion of confidence. But I don't think that chosen nips and tucks are necessarily evil, either. Two friends from high school had nose jobs done either before or shortly after their senior years--I am guessing because their generous noses were the first and sometimes the only thing people noticed about them. The surgery transformed more than their faces--both had huge surges in confidence afterwards. It was beautiful. They were beautiful.
The women at BlogHer were beautiful.
Grace Is a Friend of Leelo's
Grace Is a Friend of Leelo's
Originally uploaded by Squid Rosenberg.
Rock on, Grace! Thank you so much for helping our family support autism awareness and research.
Originally uploaded by Squid Rosenberg.
Rock on, Grace! Thank you so much for helping our family support autism awareness and research.
8.01.2006
Mali Milestone: Now Smarter Than a Dog. Almost.
Mali Milestone: Now Smarter Than a Dog. Almost.
Leelo's diet has never been well-rounded, and it has been a long time since we've tried to force the issue with anything other than dietary supplements sprinkled into his morning rice milk. He eats six items; grocery shopping for him is simple. I occasionally mix shredded carrots or dried blueberries into his pancakes, but for the most part trying to modify his diet is not worth the proportional effort.
We try harder for healthy feeding with the girls. Their dinner tonight was a ten-parenting-points combo of buckwheat noodles (complex carbs), seaweed salad (hardcore veggies with trace minerals), and edamame (protein). Those of you who are now fretting about their osteoporotic future will be both pleased and dismayed to know that this healthy feast was prefaced by ice cream (calcium).
Still, there are days in which Iz and Mali eat only toast, bananas, and cheerios, so I try to supplement their diet, too. Vitamins, specifically SuperNatural Bursty Rhino Vita-Gummies, have been a big hit. Apparently the word "Gummies," with all its attendant sugary promises, negates the stigma of its companion "Vita." Iz takes them willingly--she even asks for them.
I've had less luck with strawberry-flavored cod liver oil capsules, to my surprise--I observed how much Jenijen's kids like them, and so thought they might go over well with my girls.
Big mistake. Iz can read--both bottle labels and stories about awful English nannies forcing nasty cod liver oil on sad little English poppets--so she flat-out rejected the capsules.
I thought Mali might be more amenable. After all, she is illiterate, and the capsules look and smell like candy! I even told Mali that candy is what they were. But my lie was for naught--she put one in her mouth, made a face, spat it out, fixed me with one of her "whammy" looks, and hissed, "medicine!"
So, yeah, she's smart, and yeah again, I shouldn't try to deceive my kids. But in case you're thinking that Mali's such a smart damn cookie, I'll have you know that I just found her pilfering kibble from the cat's dish.
Leelo's diet has never been well-rounded, and it has been a long time since we've tried to force the issue with anything other than dietary supplements sprinkled into his morning rice milk. He eats six items; grocery shopping for him is simple. I occasionally mix shredded carrots or dried blueberries into his pancakes, but for the most part trying to modify his diet is not worth the proportional effort.
We try harder for healthy feeding with the girls. Their dinner tonight was a ten-parenting-points combo of buckwheat noodles (complex carbs), seaweed salad (hardcore veggies with trace minerals), and edamame (protein). Those of you who are now fretting about their osteoporotic future will be both pleased and dismayed to know that this healthy feast was prefaced by ice cream (calcium).
Still, there are days in which Iz and Mali eat only toast, bananas, and cheerios, so I try to supplement their diet, too. Vitamins, specifically SuperNatural Bursty Rhino Vita-Gummies, have been a big hit. Apparently the word "Gummies," with all its attendant sugary promises, negates the stigma of its companion "Vita." Iz takes them willingly--she even asks for them.
I've had less luck with strawberry-flavored cod liver oil capsules, to my surprise--I observed how much Jenijen's kids like them, and so thought they might go over well with my girls.
Big mistake. Iz can read--both bottle labels and stories about awful English nannies forcing nasty cod liver oil on sad little English poppets--so she flat-out rejected the capsules.
I thought Mali might be more amenable. After all, she is illiterate, and the capsules look and smell like candy! I even told Mali that candy is what they were. But my lie was for naught--she put one in her mouth, made a face, spat it out, fixed me with one of her "whammy" looks, and hissed, "medicine!"
So, yeah, she's smart, and yeah again, I shouldn't try to deceive my kids. But in case you're thinking that Mali's such a smart damn cookie, I'll have you know that I just found her pilfering kibble from the cat's dish.
As Long As I'm Writing About Whacking Off
As Long As I'm Writing About Whacking Off
Susan Senator's reassuring book Making Peace with Autism covers autism, puberty, and masturbation in a straightforward and helpful manner. I recommend the book for many reasons, but diddling is the most topical one of late.
Susan Senator's reassuring book Making Peace with Autism covers autism, puberty, and masturbation in a straightforward and helpful manner. I recommend the book for many reasons, but diddling is the most topical one of late.
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