Once upon a time there was a potter who threw two pots on the wheel, one straight after the other, with the same type of clay, in the same manner. Many moons later after they were both high fired, the potter glazed them with Sun Valley Rutile and Woo Blue.
One came out like the poo pot that it really was, rough dark brown and hideously vile:-
The other came out as a stunning gem:-
A camera just can't do it justice,
but with a 50% failure rate there better be a jolly big market for poo pots.
I'll give you a hint= woo blue and sun valley rutile.
Answers tomorrow!
"Trish" the supremely well "organised one" pointed out that my sidebar had gone all screwy, although she used proper words to describe my most unfortunate mistake with Wordpress so I whizzed of to "Van" to throw myself at his technical feet, the maker of the favicon "favicon" who has saved my bacon again "Furiousball" so he may be able to help you out too with your web needs for his reasonable prices, fully "qualified" and tech savvy approach is sure to leave all "customers" thoroughly satisfied, again. You can find his "resume" and "contact" details on this post "here."
And you still have just enough time to sneak into the Mother's Day Giveaways of at "5 Minutes for Mum."
If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.
Because I shall say this only once! Well, that at least was the plan. I don’t know about you and your campaigns but around here consistency and persistence are our watch words, together with big dollops of follow through. I think it’s the follow through where I am apt to trip up and fall down.
A case in point would be a recent campaign that I instigated in an attempt to return some order to the chaotic state that we currently live in. It was quite a small campaign in the great scheme of things, very simple. The new campaign for the children was to pick up their Webkinz and Pokemons and put them in a laundry hamper, a large one, rather than leave them strewn all over their beds and carpet. It is so much easier to make beds and vacuum every day if you avoid having to wade your way through a morass of wildlife.
Hence just before our night time routine I told them about the new campaign. I made sure that I had everyone’s attention first before making my proclamation:-
‘Listen very carefully because I shall say this only once. Are you listening? Can you hear me? Right. So before you come downstairs tomorrow at 5 o’clock in the morning, first you must put every Webkinz, Pokemon and other fluffies in this large laundry hamper. Do you understand? Can you do this?’
Once a positive response was extracted, I moved onto the next child and repeated myself because although I was sure to ‘only say it once,’ I did in fact say it three times. I said it loud enough so that each of the three times that I said it, the other two could also hear it, because that’s what we call positive re-inforcement around here. I made it plain that consequences for non-compliance would follow. What consequence? A time out for all malingering fluffies, although I failed to specify how long that 'time out' would last.
Thusly the following morning I was confident that henceforward my domestic duties would have halved over-night.
Sadly, as it turned out, yet another campaign failed at the first blip.
The back story for anyone with special needs children.
It was pretty much doomed without a prompt in the morning, a prompt that I did intend to give but failed to give, due to the reality of two wet beds and copious amounts of dog vomit. Very unwelcome gifts at 5.04 precisely.
I think that this is an all too familiar reminder that in an idea world, I like to set up my children to experience success. Although the prompt was in the ether, in reality I failed to perform.
To be fair, I think any child would have a hard time remembering something new from the night before, especially if the new thing was a chore. I did follow up and remove the toys to a spot out of reach but I know that they won’t be there as long on a ‘time out’ as if I had other children.
Other children might accept this as a commensurate consequence but not my children. If I had done this a few years ago, screaming meltdowns would be more or less guaranteed but these days we have words with which to express our disdain more logically. Logically, they believe that the toys are being punished for their oversight, which therefore is patently unfair and the cause of great angst.
I share this because parents of special needs children frequently feel like failures. It can be very de-moralizing and debilitating to stare at the faces of defeat, especially when they are of our own making.
Even after all these years I still get it wrong and I still make mistakes.
Meanwhile I have to design "three original cakes" for the fundraiser at school, which is great because I'm much better at cakes than kids. The theme is 'fiesta' although I personally wish it was 'siesta,' any ideas gratefully received. All I can come up with with a cactus with great big pokey spines.
You can't have your cake and eat it too......if you give it away.
Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.
Just call me snap happy.
I like to think that this tribute to Garfield is directly related to my son's increased diet. Well......Garfield does have very winning ways.
If you're looking for something different for Mother's Day, then how about a "goat?" I just love "Oxfam."
My daughter is safely back from Science Camp together with the "cartoons."
If you're in need of other freebies and giveaways then you could do a lot worse than to nip along to a new site that I recently discovered called "We are THAT family" where you can find a pleasant introduction to the "clan here."
Please add your name to my two giveaways if you haven't already as the end of April approaches:-
Meanwhile the "Pi" dishes are still languishing in the kiln up at the studio but any day soon now......so if you don't want to miss them you may wish to subscribe to my RSS feed at "Etsy" or "twitter," as I do not blog in real time.
“Argh! Don’t touch me!” “Why? What’s the matter dear?” “Do not be touching me wiv your poison finger.” “It’s alright I washed them after I made the peanut butter sandwiches. “No!” “No what? My hands are clean. My fingers are clean.” “No you are be having dah wart.” “Wart?” “Yes.” “Oh that. It’s tiny. I’m surprised you even noticed?” “I am notice poison and I am notice wart.” “That’s not a wart.” “Yes it is. I am not wanting dah warts.” “It’s not a wart, honest, look?” “No.” “Do you remember last night when I screamed……when I burned my finger…..? “Squeak.” “Pardon?” “Not scream………lil ole squeak.” “Ah……so when I squeaked I squeaked because I burned my finger……now it’s turned into a blister……not a wart.” “Blister! Blister? What is a blister is being?” “It’s a little bubble of skin where the cells have di……burned. It’s very painful like a paper cut.” “Blister is pain?” “Very. You know how it is, anything on your finger tips seems ten times bigger than it really is.” “Ten times paining?” “Indeed.” He takes my hand in his, gently, like a fragile piece of porcelain and licks the blip, mother cat style, subjecting himself to cross contamination and any number of other evil vilenesses. He looks up, into my eyes, “all better now,” and flits away at the speed of light.
I'm not that good at thinking ahead, "working" and planning as "Trish." I also lack her "good humour" and "positive approach" especially in the 94 degree heat this week I must say I'm not so much 'looking forward to summer' but already frying. However, I know that most families do try to plan ahead and so I just wanted to mention this thoroughly splendiferous organization called "Fresh Air" which aims to show the 'country life' to those cooped up in the cities and burbs.
When I first nipped over "there" to check it out, I must admit that I mis-read the header as 'donate a child,' which for obvious reasons seriously grabbed my attention!
Maybe you'd like to volunteer to "host," maybe you'd like to "volunteer" or "spread the word" about this non-profit. Many life times ago in England we opened our home to foreign exchange students so I can tell you first hand that it can be a lot of fun but anything that gets children out and about certainly gets my vote as around here we have been more or less house bound for many a long year.
'how you have arranged your home to enhance your child’s development?'
I believe this is a button / link free event but I'll post a box at the bottom just in case you would like to contribute your thoughts and opinions.
This is a difficult question to answer thoroughly mainly because it is constantly changing.
For instance the six foot, blue wedge which entirely covered the family room floor now currently resides in the spare room, along with the trampolene and the L-shaped sectional. This is because my children are much bigger than they once were and need a lot more romp room.
In truth it is less used than it once was because now my children can romp outside as well as inside, something I couldn't even imagine this time last year, as outside was also out of bounds for my little hot house plants.
In fact the more I think of it the greater the list becomes. I cannot think of an area of our lives that has not been significantly altered from my own personal sleep patterns to the food that we eat. There is not a single spot in our lives that has not changed and keeps changing.
To grasp the depth of these fundamental changes more easily, all we need to do is think of any activity and run it through the lens of the sensory, what we see, hear, touch, smell and taste.
Until last summer we only ever went upstairs to sleep, not at any other time. The children could not be left unsupervised for more than a minute, maybe two.
Our house is still full of schedule boards, PECs, wipe boards and timers, as they provide scaffolding support even though their speech has improved dramatically.
We have tick down charts for every major event even if the major event is something as minor as a puppy training class.
We have labels and other charts in the most surprising places that cover the most trivial of matters. Everything is place at the right height, theirs. I sometimes suspect that our entire house is held together with Velcro.
But the only truly mysterious thing ..... is that they keep growing.
p.s. As if I didn't already have enough to smile about, this afternoon a box arrived amid the triple playdate!
I just love receiving parcels, and I had no idea who it was from except:-
Don't say that they're too old, novelty has a big impact on all children and if they play with anything other than electronics or Pokemon then that's a jolly good reason to celebrate. Thank you "Tammy" you've certainly got you "work" cut out for you.
Do I really need to buy a weighted blanket? Do they work? Is this part of a sensory diet? Why do they work? This was [more or less ] the most interesting google search question this week. Or two weighted blankets in our case? I might add that this item is just about the most hidesouly expensive thing anyone would ever care to buy. I don’t know what you consider to be affordable or within budget but if you require two, as we may do, that is a pretty hefty investment. If you add the postage costs, remember, they’re weighted which means by very definition they are heavy, then more dollars are floating away than I am able to count. However, I digress.
Do they work? This should be where we really start. The benefits of weighted blanket are well documented elsewhere, primarily in the ‘calming the fizzy sensory system.’ As with most therapy items, a weighted blanket is unlikely to cause miracles but used in combination with other treatments, together, they may help provide a more balanced yet full sensory diet.
Children, autistic or otherwise, often benefit greatly in the sleep department from any number of different calming techniques together with a sensitive, carefully tailored night time routine. Some of us may remember the benefits of swaddling babies, either swaddling our own babies, or being the swaddlee ourselves when we were babies. The swaddling technique used to be quite commonplace.
Although many manufacturers claim that their blankets are fully washable, if a child is a frequent bed wetter then be sure to read the fine print large!
However, to answer the question more directly, I only need to recall when I was a youngster in the ghastly days of sheets and blankets, long before leisurely duvets were invented, or rather imported from our European cousins into England. Those were the days when there was no other option but to make the bed daily to restore order to the messy higgledy piggledy pile. However, it did have the added benefit then when a parent came upstairs at the end of a long and weary day, they did indeed ‘tuck us in.’ My Mum, in particular, would snap those sheets so tightly across my bod it was like being laced into a corset, and almost as breathless. The net result, apart from a concave chest, was a blissful night of sleep, secure if not padlocked. So if you want to save yourself a whole tonne of money, toss the comforter and invest in the old fashioned. You may even be able to borrow the old stuff from a close and crumbly relative.
p.s. really skilled sleepers who have been cocooned in this elastic fashion, soon learn to remain static during sleep and if they’re really, really clever, they can squiggle out of the bed in the morning, to allow the sheets to ping back into place with barely a visible wrinkle, which neatly takes care of the bed making problem.
A thorough desensitization plan is an essential tool for many parents of autistic children. The key to success is both consistency and persistence with a healthy dollop of patience and encouragement. It’s a recipe for success around here and after many long years of practice we are now the very proud, temporary custodians of an ex-neophobe. This is not to say that my youngest son actually enjoys very much of the food in his new diet but he does eat it.
For many months now we have been fading the reward, the chocolate pudding, until it finally fizzled out about a month ago. However, chocolate pudding is a very good way of getting high calories of fat and protein, which when you’re very skinny may not be such a bad thing. As a consequence, I decide that the reintroduction of chocolate pudding might be one way of packing on the pounds, after he has eaten dinner and after he has already eaten some vile fruity dessert of my own concoction. My difficulty is a practical one, remembering to make it in advance. Chocolate custard is not a recipe that can be rushed. I reach the obvious conclusion, I ask the chap with the very big memory to remind me himself. What better motivation could there be to increase communication between me and my youngest?
I share my cunning plan with him, or at least the pertinent parts. “So……when we get home, could you remind me to make your pudding? I always lose the post it notes?” “Sure……you have gotten dah right guy for dah rememberings.”
As we drive home from school we chat in the car, or rather I ask questions, and everyone ignores me as the word bank is officially empty after a whole day of school. We run through our usual routine. First the 20 yard dash through the back door with a finely pinched nose to avoid being gassed by the perfume from the Jasmine, practice our favourite words of the week, namely ‘suffocate / double helix / partial / social worker. Then after a snack and some downtime it’s onto the nightmare of homework. Hours pass in this one hideous activity until we are all thoroughly drained. We pack up, prepare pack lunches and then on successful completion they are all free to indulge in thirty minutes electronics time. This in turn gives me 30 minutes to get supper on the table unhampered by demands as they tune out. As I prepare nutrititious cold salads in the 95 degree heat I contemplate how I can possibly bribe him to eat any of it? Chocolate pudding! I forgot again. I dart after my son engrossed in his game. “Hey weren’t you going to remind me?” “Wot?” “I asked you to remind me to make something for you.” “Wot?” “Do you remember what it was?” “Yes.” “What was it?” “Make chocolate pudding.” “Yes but you didn’t remind me!” “I did.” “You did! When did you?” “I don’t know.” “I don’t remember you reminding me?” “I did.” “When?” “Er……look it.” “Look at what?” “Dah post it note.” “What post it note?” “Dah one dat I am writing dah chocolate pudding.” I dash back into the kitchen……..sure enough, there is a post it note stuck to the saucepan together with his own unique time stamp. Now that’s a heck of a lot of reciprocal exchange!
By the by, it may be that you noticed my new thoroughly delightful "favicon" [although that is probably the wrong word.] If so you may wish to consult "Furiousball" about your web needs for his reasonable prices, fully "qualified" and tech savvy approach is sure to leave all "customers" thoroughly satisfied.........why does that sound vaguely rude? You can find his "resume" and "contact" details on this post "here."
but you won't hear me moaning about autism, or if you do, I'll just be mumbling into my socks, because I am a natural grumbler, but please don't compare autism to cancer.
'We are holding this blog party in honor of Tuesday Whitt, my friend Jess' beautiful twin daughter who bravely fought and sadly lost her 8 month battle with stage 4 neuroblastoma in January of this year. We are doing this fundraiser to hopefully raise awareness about this awful disease and to raise money for the Tuesday Fiona Whitt Foundation, where all proceeds go towards pediatric cancer research.'
be deprived of a loved one through a profound absence, esp. due to the loved one's death : the year after they had been bereaved | [as adj. ] ( bereaved) bereaved families | [as plural n. ] ( the bereaved) those who counsel the bereaved.
It's ok to reach out to us. You are not bothering us. It's ok if you can't. If you don't know what to say, "I'm so sorry you lost Tuesday" , with, or with out a hug, is all we need. It's ok if you say something and I start to cry. You didn't cause it. Death caused it. You didn't "remind" me of her death, because not a second goes by that I am not thinking of her. Aching for her. It's ok if you see us out and we are smiling and appear to be doing well. At that moment, we probably are doing well. Other moments we are doing so, absolutely, not well. It's ok if you said the wrong thing or didn't say the right thing because there is no wrong or right thing to say. There is no wrong or right way to BE when your child dies. There is no right way to do this. We'll figure it out together.
Thank you for loving us.'
Personally, I cannot even imagine what that would be like.
Whilst it may seem a little daft to start another giveaway even before I've finished the first "one," timing has never been one of my strong suits. There is a family I know who have returned to Ireland who have battled with cancer and won a reprieve so this is a topic quite close to home, yet far away.
So without further ado:-
so here it is.......
........maybe this one has your name on it, so please consider whether this is something that has touched your life.
Yes, I will bite the bullet and ship worldwide if we don't go bankrupt first.
We are approaching Mother's Day in the United States, the second Sunday in May, it may be that you might be able to spare a thought for this "family," I hope. This giveaway will end on the 12th of May.
Whilst you're at it, again with Mother's Day in mind, maybe we can extend a green hand to help families worldwide with "Oxfam America Unwrapped," as that would be fairly high on my list.
If you need some light relief, then head on over to:-
Spring has Sprung around here and so it's time to tackle the garden, or more specifically, how to train a plant to be a standard? Standard? What kind of Standard? The standard kind which has one stalk. There are many reasons why this is a useful exercise, most commonly for people with either small garden or narrow flower beds. If you can train the plant to do all it's flowering at eye level then this frees up the bottom of the bed for other plants and effectively doubles the amount of blooms you can squeeze into a small space.
This is Jasmine which has many stalks as well as many runners. First find the thickest or most vigorous stalk and cut back all the others at ground level. Nick off any little sprouts that emerge from your main stalk.
Within a year you can move from a wild out of control plant to this stately one stemmed version. This of course is a honeysuckle not a Jasmin.
There will always be more sprouts at the bottom but they're easy to remove on a weekly basis.
Be careful what time of year you attempt this tackle as you may wipe out a whole years flowers. Ideally this should be tackled at the end of the flowering season ready for the next year or just after the first flowering as here it is not uncommon to have three or four blooming periods.
Now if only everything else in my life were as easy as this! There again, 'standard' is probably a little over-rated except by certain control freaks like me.
Cheers
So don't forget to add your name to the "original post list" and help spread the word for the giveaway, wouldn't like to miss anyone out.
Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.
Just call me snap happy.
Tomorrow my daughter is off to Science Camp for four days and three nights. We parents have been encouraged to write letters to our children for them to read whilst they are away. Writing is not one of my strengths, or rather, legible writing is not one of my strengths. Hence she will be receiving the following enclose with a letter painfully scribbled by me.
Tuesday
1.
2.
3. Wednesday
1.
2.
3.
Thursday
1.
2.
3.
Friday
1.
2.
3.
I drew them a long time ago before she was born but I think she'll recognize the characters even if we are a decade older and greyer.
Yes, I know, everyone hates skinny women but I try and play a supportive role.
Cheers Dears
This could be yours:-
So don't forget to add your name to the "original post list" and help spread the word for the giveaway, wouldn't like to miss anyone out.
I flit around the kitchen with the phone clamped to my left ear.
Productivity is hampered without the use of my hand but the right one copes with the usual domestic tasks. After 22 minutes on ‘hold’ my patience wears thin. Supper is nearly ready.
The children continue to play Wii. We conduct a limited conversation roughly along the lines of “come see our video that we made,” v. “in a minute, I just need to finish cooking.” We repeat this exchange once every three minutes.
I sip tea from the second pot in the same time span, to whet my mouth for the silent curses of ‘hold.’ The musak on the telephone vies for my attention but the background musak from the Wii game, Swan Lake, massacred and digitally rejigged by the boys, is every bit as annoying, especially since the same musical phrase repeats approximately 6 times.
I love the Wii music game. It is one of the most effective therapy tools that we bought completely by accident. If we wanted a tool to practice eye hand co-ordination then we certainly found one. Of all the hand eye co-ordination tools that we previously purchased, none have been effective because they all lacked the magical quality of motivation. Now we have loads of motivation. I can’t put my hand on my heart and say that I have noticed any particular improvement in hand eye co-ordination but 30 minutes of daily practice over time, with this pleasant pastime, must have a positive effect..... eventually. As I sip the dredges of the 7th mug of tea my brain registers ‘full capacity.’
I peek at the boys and then slip into the bathroom. My son appears just as I sit down, as locked doors and privacy are an anathema around here, “now you are watch our video?” I look at him with the phone still on my ear, sitting and wait for him to play catch up. "Wot?” “Look at me dear!” “Yeah……I am lookin.....you are not doing cooking now!” The phone musak stops to permit a voice on the line, “hi, how may I provide you with excellent service today?”
So don't forget to add your name to the "original post list" and help spread the word for the giveaway, wouldn't like to dip anyone out.
Get the code:- Cut and paste from this little boxy thing below
Siblings not quite so rivalrous.
The influence of modern technology:-
Whilst the boys play 'club,' they require their sister to 'guess the password' to gain entry.
"Webkinz?" "Nope." "Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear?" "Nope." "Social worker?" "Nope." "Double Helix?" "Hey! You only get three guesses. You chance expire. You get to try later. Hit reset password."
More fruitiness with our first home grown strawberry, in April!
This could be yours:-
So don't forget to add your name to the "original post list" and help spread the word for the giveaway, wouldn't like to miss anyone out.
There are many occasions in life when is next to impossible to do the right thing. If you are forced to act in a manner in which you would prefer not to, then it’s a good idea to find a method of keeping your cool.
Some people are naturally calm, unflappable, no matter what life throws at them. They are people that I greatly admire but other lesser mortals, such as myself, are more easily ruffled.
Around here, a frequent occasion pops up in the form of car travel. The car has long been an aversive experience for the boys, but they have developed their own coping mechanism, namely circular little ditties and noises that help calm them. These phrases are not calming to either the driver, nor other passengers. For long journeys we have different strategies but for short trips it’s merely a case of grin and bare it. It is essential to concentrate upon the art of driving, remain unflustered and resolute.
We drive to the restaurant, a party of seven, with the boys independently perseverating in their own unique ways. “Shut up already!” bleats my daughter, sandwiched between the pair of them. “Don’t worry dear, we’re nearly there, just tune it out.” “But I can’t,” she wails. “Just take yourself to your happy place and lock the door.” “But I don’t have a happy place.” “Everyone has a happy place you just have to find yours, remember?” “I can’t think about anything with all this din, it’s torture.” “I think your current happy place would be a barrel full of darling Webkinz, up to your neck in them, all soft and fluffy……muffling the sound. You just need to imagine pulling the lid down over your head, turn the key in the lock……or are you too old for Webkinz now?” “I can’t I just can’t.” “Hey…….Mom!” “Yes dear?” Ooo a chink in the chain, a brief pause. “Dya wanna know where is being my happy place?” This, though he didn’t appear to be listening, seemed to be tuned out. “Ooo yes please!” “Tribe.” “Tribe?” “In dah jungle wiv all my Spore friends.” “Ah. Of course.” “Me!” “Yes dear, where’s your happy place then?” “Er…..my happy place is…….nest.” “Ooo of course. How you love eggs still.” “No……not eggs……..video games.” “Sounds a bit uncomfortable and pokey to me!” “Heaven mom, pure heaven!”
This could be yours:-
Don't forget to add your name to the "list" and help spread the word for the giveaway.
p.s. should you happen to have a free mo about your person, you may wish to nip on over to "Kristina" at "Change.org" where you might want to consider signing the petition to encourage President Obama to fully fund IDEA as that would help make a lot of people very happy.
If you had asked me a year ago, I would have been pretty categorical about quite a few things:- He will not go outside willingly He has a close affinity with cats and is fearful of dogs If it’s not yellow or golden it is less preferred He has no interest in plants or gardening He only eats 7 to 13 food items He is obsessed with Pokemon and electronics, and has no interest in anything else I am always hunting for motivators
Whilst these points are more or less true, at the time they seemed quite overwhelming. It can be difficult to see the big picture when you’re concentrating on the minutiae. However perspectives alter as children grow, and all children grow even when they exist upon such a narrow and restricted diet.
All to often something unexpected clicks into gear and we shoot off in an entirely new direction.
I am mid conversation with my son in law Mr. B, as we paw over the seed box. We debate which seeds would be most suitable as a gift for his mother in Brazil, her colour preferences, the climate, custom restrictions, when my youngest son interjects himself, “I am love!” “Yes indeed. What do you love dear?” “Dah seeds,” he oozes with exaggerated ‘z’s.’ “Really? Which ones? The yellow Marigolds?” I guess as I waggle the seed packet before his nose. “Noooooo,” is the breathy response. His finger tips walk through the paper packets, tentative and brave. “Deez are the ones I am wanting.” “Carrots? You don’t like carrots! You certainly don’t eat them!” “I am grow carrots……pleaz?” I step towards the door to the garden but his skips ahead and charges outdoors clutching the packet in a perfect pincher grip. Together we spend a thoroughly pleasant ten minutes in soil preparation and sowing. Yes, I said together. He is compliant at every step and there are lots of steps. Not only is he compliant, he is amiable and mysteriously motivated to perfectly complete a whole new task. But of course this is not enough for me. I just have to know. “So……….why carrots?” “Coz den my family will be eating dem.” “Why do you want your family to eat carrots?” “Den everyone will be seeing in dah dark, jus like me is doing.” “You can see in the dark?” “Meow.”
I do so love being proved wrong, narrow minded and overly pessimistic.
This could be yours:-
Don't forget to add your name to the "list" and help spread the word for the giveaway.
Talking of giveaways "Sue Klein" at "Model Me Kids" is also having a giveaway but the difference here is that you can enter to win for your child's "teacher!" and you know how I love teachers.
Lastly but by no means leastly, for anyone who feels that they are also miserable old skeptics like me, then go and watch this "video" on "U-tube" where Brits are at their very best.
If you want to be noticed at the annual Bunnies and Bonnets Parade........
Motivation? If you're 'noticed' you are more likely to win the candy being distributed by the generous parade goers.
This could be yours:-
Don't forget to add your name to the "list" and help spread the word for the giveaway.
If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.
On another note, if you have a spare mo perhaps you may be able to help the "Fresh Air Fun," which seeks to let inner city children experience time out in the wilds as you can see at their "website" where there are other videos about this non-profit venture, but this video below is my favourite = wordless!
This week’s tackle is mammoth and unexpected as my boys have hit the Houdini stage of development. As with all special needs parents, vigilance is our watch word and when that doesn’t work we use padlocks, deadbolts and trip alarms. After that, the ammunition possibilities are a little limited.
I shall keep this brief as the children are on Spring break and I’m writing whilst they are asleep. I think my own sleep schedule is now officially canceled. I had another post entirely planned but this is more important.
I returned home today from the passport office to find both the boys in the front garden where they had climbed over the five and a half foot wall to avoid the locks on the door. Oh yes, well done boys, I am so impressed with your climbing skills, co-ordination skills, spatial awareness, teamwork, landing safely skills without splitting your respective noggins open on the concrete floor.
A wee while back “Mama Mara” suggested that I use my broken pots for mosaics, however, I have another and MUCH better idea. Jagged, shards of pottery shall henceforth be cemented to the top of every wall on the premises above a moat full of sharks. Well…….......maybe if I had a little more time. Hence meanwhile I shall be using the lovely Spring Break to teach my children compliance.
Don't forget to check out other "tacklers" as well as "Trish" and the "freebie list" at the end of last week's "tackle," giveaway either in the box or as a comment. You don't need to have a blog to enter, merely a postal address.
Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.
Just call me snap happy.
Yes the holiday is upon us. Mayhem ensues. Entertain, play and fun are the order of the day but pretty soon that can dissolve into chaos, at least around here in any case. I am actually writing this a week ahead of time so that I am prepared for the onslaught, especially after this evening,s excitement. Excitement comes in many forms, be that a general over stimulation or the frenzy of anticipation. Whatever it is, we experienced it tonight, a collection of whirling Dervishes.
I knew matters had reached the pinnacle when I said goodnight to them. We have a little night time ritual, different for each one. I won’t bore you with the mushy details but suffice to say that once I had finished my little luvvies and stood to leave, my son asked why we hadn’t had the long version of the luvvies? As we had just finished the long version of the luvvies, I was less than impressed. My words hadn’t registered at all. Not one of them. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘whispering sweet nothings.’
It made me think, think hard. It made me think that if I am to single handedly survive 11 glorious days with my children, 24/7, I need a little more ammunition to guarantee survival, if not sanity. Hence this is what I came up with. It’s a deal. A deal between me and them. I ask once, they respond. Yes, I can hear you cackling from all the way over there. You know I am a rule obsessed goal freak, but in this particular instance I have an ulterior motive. The motive is to remind myself to first obtain the attention of the child to whom I wish to speak, before I speak. Yes I know it’s step 101 but all too often I find that I slip up on the basics and am thoroughly surprised when I’m haring around the house nagging three smallish individuals many multitudes of times. It’s exhausting, for them and for me, as well as being completely pointless. Far better to do it once, properly, for everyone’s sake.
I’m sure that many of you have already survived the Spring Break but if you have any tips, I’m all ears. Interestingly, the circle still stinks of permanent marker four hours later after I’ve tidied up. Smell-aversion should certainly grab everyone’s attention!
So here I am with my reminder. As yet I haven’t decided whether to make it into a pendant, a mask or a head band, but I’ll keep you posted.
Don't forget to add your name to the "list" to the giveaway and help spread the word.
Do not be alarmed that your computer has broken, the sound track has been disabled which I might just have noticed if I'd cleaned my bifocals first.
Don't forget to add your name to the "list" and help spread the word. I have a terrible feeling that I'll miss the opportunity to test USPS by sending it abroad. I need more foreigners. Know any foreigners? I wonder if it's because I'm using the wrong word? Do foreigners know what a giveaway is? Foreigners! Foreigners! Calling all foreigners! It's a freebie!
One of the many advantages of two generations of children is that family stories are re-hashed and regurgitated. There are obstacles to be overcome with such story telling. If one generation of children grew up in England and the newer generation grow up in the States then there are a great many discrepancies between the two factions. Their experiences differ greatly.
This becomes all too apparent one night at the dinner table when rowdiness rules the roost. She turns to me and rolls her eyes over the din. She slumps back in her chair to observe her younger siblings raucous, unbridled and ever so ever so loud shenanigans. “Hey!” she bellows with large accompanying arm movements. “Wot?” “I want to tell you something.” “Wot?” “When I was little……about your age,” she adds as she glares at each one of them in turn, “I used to be loud too.” None of them says a word, either because they find it hard to imagine that their big sister was ever their age or because they are all different ages or because they cannot imagine her being loud or all three. “One day mum went to meet her friend at a pub for lunch and I went too.” “Pub! Pub? Wot is it being ‘a pub’?” “A pub is where you go to drink.” They look at her in confusion so I nudge and whisper “that probably wasn’t terribly helpful.” “Right. A pub is where you go to eat, and drink alcohol, a bit like a restaurant or a diner.” Three pairs of eyes widen at the trigger word ‘alcohol.’ “You are drink alcohol when you was being a kid?” “No I drank orange juice but that’s not the point. The point….” Her tale is cut short as the conversation is now stuck firmly in the mire of ‘just say no.’ They would only be slightly more shocked to hear that she drank rat poison. The din grows louder as they perseverate over the evils of drink but she reins them in to pursue her tale. “ANYWAY!” They pause and return their attention to their big sister. “Anyway, as I was saying……we were in the pub……eating…….and I was being very naughty.” “Naughty?” they chorus. “Yes…..so mum’s friend told me a secret.” “A secret?” “Yes…….mum’s friend told me that she used to have noisy naughty children too, just like me…….” She pauses to brilliant effect. “So what do you think happened to her children, those noisy naughty children?” I am suddenly more than a little worried where this is going as I am the one who will have to deal with the fall out, probably for some considerable period of time, but she’s on a roll and there’s no stopping her now. “Well……mum’s friend told me that her children were so naughty and noisy that she left them in the pub, went home and she never saw them again.” “She losted her children?” “Yes she did.” “Yur kidding right?” “Dat is way bad.” “England" is evil!” They scatter to the four winds before she has the chance to finish. “Great! Did you have to tell them that?” “They didn’t give me a chance to finish.” “You know we’re going to "England" in less than two months?” “So?” “Well I was looking forward to the odd pub lunch here and there, maybe.” “Do you think that’s going to be a problem? Just from what I said?” “Believe you me, that little nugget of information is boring a hole into their brains to lodge there quite firmly until hell freezes over.” “Better get some take out menus "then.”
Special education teachers often get a bad rap although that’s not my personal experience. There are some real gems out there, underpaid and undervalued but nonetheless still giving of their best.
Here in California when over 22,000 pink slips have been issued, I think it’s important to pay tribute to those who work in special education, the professionals we trust with the care of our children, both teachers and aides because it’s all about teamwork. Not only do they need to teach the curriculum and cater to each of the differing special needs of their charges, they also need to deal with the unexpected. I can think of no better way to illustrate the unexpected than to demonstrate the unexpected with an example.
This is of course hearsay as I wasn’t there myself at the time.
My son and his pals enjoy the addition of a new play fellow in their classroom The new chap has a lot of catching up to do because he is in a new environment. Like most ‘new kids,’ he has lots of questions that need lots of answers, ordinary questions, such as the rules. Most children want to know the rules but many children are of a very literal frame of mind, which means that the rules are taken quite literally. Hence the other children half listen to the conversation between the teacher and the new boy as they complete their worksheets.
New boy: “are pets allowed in school?” Teacher:- “no I’m sorry to tell you that no pets are allowed in school.” New boy: “are dogs allowed on the school grounds?” Teacher: “no I’m afraid there’s a strict rule about allowing dogs on the premises, we have to be careful.” New boy: “are cats allowed on the premises?” Teacher: “sadly, cats aren’t allowed on school grounds either.” The last sentence is my son’s cue to stand up, walk to the wall to collect his backpack and head towards the exit but his teacher intervenes, “what’s up my friend?” “Meow!” “Oh dear. I was forgetting. Of course! You are part cat!”
Did you remember to thank your teachers and aides today?
p.s. someone with a jolly big brain pointed out to me that "Etsy" has an RSS feed, so if you’re really interested in the pi bowls you may wish to consider subscribing to that feed because I rarely write in real time which means if / when the pi bowls are ever ready they’ll be posted to the "Etsy site" way before I get around to mentioning it here.
As some of you may already know, "April" is "Autism""Awareness" month. Whilst this is a "controversial""matter" I would like to help people understand that an autism diagnoses does not mean that my ‘real’ children were not stolen nor is it worse than cancer nor death. These perspectives are a great dis-service to people, "parents and children" who struggle with those real tragedies. Autistic people and those with special needs deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect that we offer everyone else on the planet.
As I am now on "Etsy," I am offering this bowl, shipped for free anywhere in the World, as my small contribution.
It's about six inches across and just over two inches high carved in forest green slip, my son's favourite.
Some people are "autistic,""adults,""young people" and "teens," some are "parents" or "single parents" of "autistic" children, there are lots of boys "as" well as "girls," our neighbours and friends. Although you may not be directly affected I am quite certain that you already know someone who is autistic, even if you don't know it. I would encourage you to add your name to the list either for yourself of someone you know. No matter where we are on the spectrum we all basically want the same thing, a better future for autistic people and those with special needs.
We may never achieve awareness but we may be able to encourage people to think differently.
Sorry it’s not a pi dish but the kiln at the studio is backed up and I cannot predict when they might be ready nor how many will come out in one piece.
There are lots of other giveaways available at "Melanie's" site called
They lie on the floor of the waiting room whilst their sister has her second batch of x-rays. A middle aged woman like me, peers at a magazine through her bifocals with the cord dangling. Each of my boys has a Pokemon toy in each hand. The receptionist and her assistant exchange files behind their desk. The Pokemons chatter together quietly in their own language, assisted by my sons. An elderly gentleman rests his hands on his stick as he waits for his wife to return. It’s a long wait. Two high school girls wait for their father. A couple of youngsters saunter in with rucksacks straight from school with their Dad. They sit close by as their father completes paperwork, concentrates on filling the boxes. My boys continue to play, quietly. This is the first occasion that I have ever been able to manage them all without incident in a waiting room, but of course I’m not really managing them at all, they’re managing themselves. If they were between 3 and maybe six years old, no-one would turn a hair, but of course they’re so much bigger. I could actually do what other people do, things like read a book whilst they play, but I don’t as for once, ironically, even though I could, I’d rather watch instead.
It’s a diary moment, a milestone, just a little bit later than some other people. The familiar tune of a Nintendo DS game twinkles and sparks attention. My boys prop themselves up on their elbows to look across at the back of the open game console, in somebody else’s hands, “d’ya wanna play wiv us?” he offers in a thoroughly unprecedented socially appropriate manner. The gamer and his brother flash glimpse over the console, sneer and resume gaming. “Oh well,” he sighs as they continue to Pokemon, no meltdown, no reaction, no bitterness, a competent acceptance of a casual, commonplace rebuff. I think to myself, because I am biased, ‘go on, have a go, how can you resist, they’re so adorable!’ It’s just another one of those occasions that I never imagined we would ever experience, when I know that everything will be just fine.
If you require shipping to anywhere other than the United States you can contact me with your location so that I may provide you with the price of shipping for your consideration in advance.
Get the code:- Cut and paste from this little boxy thing below
We drive home from school after a quick check of the daily school reports. These notes are invaluable to give a parent a heads up. This lets me know that my older son has exhausted his words bank and that my younger son had a frightfully good day. I encourage frightfully good day to tell us all the details and let the empty bank re-couperate. For some unknown reason there is an excessively high count of "nit wits" on the road, who unfortunately, are also driving. I need to concentrate on his words. I need to concentrate on the nit wits. We pull up to the stop light and another car with open windows. Everyone turns as one and lifts their hands to their ears to examine the occupants, drawn by the 50 decibel musak. We all observe the same thing about this possibly typical family. The driver is a woman who chats on her cell phone, loudly. The small child in the front seat plays with his Nintendo DS. The two larger children in the back seat watch a DVD of cartoons and eat. We drive off with the green light whilst they are still static. I grit my teeth for the inevitable questions:- how come other children are allowed to play electronics when it’s not 5:30, how come other children get to watch the telly any time they like, how come we have to starve in the car for the 7 minute drive home, why do we always have to talk about our day, why do we have to do chores and homework before electronics, …………….but there aren’t any, just a statement,
“I wanna go and live wiv dem.”
Cheers dears
Let me know if the new little share button below works and I think my "Etsy" is up and running, I hope.
It’s a pretty ordinary kind of a day once they’ve all headed off for school. I strip two beds and start the laundry, nip out into the garden to plants a couple of packets of sunflower seeds, throw a couple of pots, bake a pair of loaves, take the dog for his customary two hour’s walk, fix two sprinkler heads, trim a couple of pots, carve one, attempt un-blurry photographs of said pots, return to supper preparations. As I peel potatoes at the sink I have the chance to listen to the radio on NPR where Michael Krasny interviews Germaine Greer about her latest fascinating book called Shakespear’s Wife, Anne Hathaway. My hands peel but by brain is back in Merry olde England, the trials of serfs, the division of labour, women’s rights and a whole slew of ancient memories of when I had a fully functioning brain when the phone rings.
The school requests collection of one ever so slightly, physically dented child.
I suspend all productivity and hare off to the school, then to the doctor, the radiologist and finally the Chemist for a sling. No permanent damage except to our finances and to her pride for apparently playing soccer with her hands!
This is why I shall never be an intellectual. Maybe I should buy the book?
My older son is a boy of few words. He rarely fills the world with idle chatter but it takes all sorts when it comes to the autism spectrum.
He has been known to wax lyrical on occasions, usually on the subject of Pokemon and more recently Spore, but other than that his silence is particular and dogged. That said, there is a particular dog, his own, who has an undue influence upon him. The influence of Thatcher the dog is all too apparent as we walk the ten minute trip to his first puppy training lesson. As we trot down the road I prepare my son for the hour of tuition, what to expect. I know what to expect because I have already spent six weeks attending the very same class with Thatcher and my daughter. Now it is his turn, my sons.
I worry that the trainer uses more words in the average lungful of breath than many an average Californian. The trainer has a warm and attractive personality. She says the same thing many times and in many different ways which is fabulous for the average learner, but for the differently abled her words are a sea of jumble, verbiage to be tuned out. My only hope is one of her even more advantageous skills. She models the desired behaviour that she teaches with a dog. Forget the words, concentrate on the body movements because my son’s mimicry skills are second to none.
I think these thoughts as I trot next to my son who hangs on to the end of the lead with Thatcher’s long strides on the other end, just enough rope to hang himself. I exude calm over silent panic but of course he’s far more astute than I give him credit for as he hauls the lead into a heel. He pauses, breathless next to Thatcher, poised in a perfect sit. All of a sudden his word bank bursts open with a torrential flood of "reassurance," “iz okay Thatcher, you’d gonna do great, you’re gonna make lots of friends, I’m gonna be there to help you, you’re gonna love the teacher, I’ve got lotsa treats for you, Kindergarten ain’t so bad…….” He continues in this vein for a full 7 minutes of uninterrupted, stutter free syllables until we reach the entrance door. Never say never my friends, we have a pal for life.
If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.
Meanwhile I'm still struggling with international postage rates as $45 to the UK is daylight robbery as far as I'm concerned. I may have to limit myself to the good ole US of A initially and expose myself as the tendentious, ethnocentric nincompoop that I really am!
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