The Rules:
1. Post the rules of the game at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags 3 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read the player’s blog.
4. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.
QUESTIONS:
What were you doing five years ago?
Five years ago I was a full-time stay at home mom (who never stayed home). I had a 1 year old,3 year old and 6-7 year old. I was in the throws of a rigorous therapy schedule with my son which required driving back and forth 3-6 times weekly, a daughter in pre-competition gymnastics who had to be at the gym at least twice weekly. Basically I lived in my car, lived breathed and immersed myself in autism and related education, put my son on a gluten and casein free died which required cooking ridiculous amounts of food and basically making my hobby "find the thing boy-child will eat" and regularly reminded myself to breath in and out. Now, right before this goes into sounding like a complete bitchfest, I must say, this was one of the most fulfilling times in my life. I think because looking back I see how much purpose I had.
What are five things on your to-do list for today?
1. Take the kids swimming.
2. Blog for the first time in 2 months.
3. Do laundry (oh hurray!)
4. Paint my nails.
5. Attend a non-profit event with my awesome husband.
What are five snacks you enjoy?
1. A Margarita and anything.
2. Cheese and crackers.
3. Cubed cheese and wine.
4. Any kind of chips and dip.
5. Bread and Italian dipping oil.
CARBS ANYONE!!!
What are five things you would do if you were a billionaire?
1. Pay off my parents home and debt (I know how much of it I caused).
2. Buy my father-in-laws 1957 Chevy back for him.
3. Finance my church in any way possible.
4. Start an Autism Awareness foundation (Ness we may have to be in this together).
5. Buy my husband the biggest bad ass truck I can find (he really deserves it.)
What are five of your bad habits?
1. procrastinating
2. giving up.... before I start
3. second guessing myself
4. picking at blemishes or anything else that looks mildly pickable
5. NEVER SAYING NO TO ANYTHING!!!!!!!!
What are five places where you have lived?
Believe it or not, I have only lived 3 places (this even means houses) in my entire life.
1. A certain city in Arkansas (moved into the house at 5 months of age)
2. A small farm in Arkansas (moved into the house 4 months shy of my 16th birthday)
3. My current home in small town, Arkansas (moved into the house in 1995 and still live here)
What are five jobs you’ve had?
1. Legal secretary (ooh aaah)
2. Nursery coordinator (these are very distinguished jobs)
3. Office Manager to a Pediatric Occupational Therapy Clinic
4. Substitute teacher
5. Teacher's Aide (or I'm going to be in the fall)
I Tag:
Jody, Cassie (start a blog already) and Aaron
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
Spring
So far we have.....
worked on riding a bike.....
turned 11.....
tried out for cheer leading, and made it....
and celebrated our risen Savior on Easter.
Spring has definitely arrived.
worked on riding a bike.....
turned 11.....
tried out for cheer leading, and made it....
and celebrated our risen Savior on Easter.
Spring has definitely arrived.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Check List
To Do List:
1. Get kids to school......check.
2. Drink too much coffee.....check.
3. Reach on top of fridge knocking down camera, breaking it just in time for Disney trip......check.
4. Get out all bills to sort, list and budget for......check.
5. Walk away from bills leaving them piled on the counter for another day.....check.
6. Break lots of dishes.....check.
7. Glue and mud dish pieces to picture frame.....check.
8. Get on treadmill intending to do 45 minutes,
9. Maybe 30,
10. Quite after 25......check.
11. Finish picture frame and start on wine bottle (mosaicing that is)......check.
12. Cut finger and bleed on wine bottle......check.
13. Pick up kids from school.......check.
14. Clean up mosaics so that it looks like I did something constructive......check.
15. Contemplate what I do all day......check.
1. Get kids to school......check.
2. Drink too much coffee.....check.
3. Reach on top of fridge knocking down camera, breaking it just in time for Disney trip......check.
4. Get out all bills to sort, list and budget for......check.
5. Walk away from bills leaving them piled on the counter for another day.....check.
6. Break lots of dishes.....check.
7. Glue and mud dish pieces to picture frame.....check.
8. Get on treadmill intending to do 45 minutes,
9. Maybe 30,
10. Quite after 25......check.
11. Finish picture frame and start on wine bottle (mosaicing that is)......check.
12. Cut finger and bleed on wine bottle......check.
13. Pick up kids from school.......check.
14. Clean up mosaics so that it looks like I did something constructive......check.
15. Contemplate what I do all day......check.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Pale Blue Letters
I wanted to share with you my favorite story. It is a story from the book Chocolate for a Mother's Heart, it was written by Michelle Wallace Campanelli. Those of you who know me will understand what it has meant to me.
Babysitting my friend's son is always an experience. Jeb has been diagnosed with some autistic characteristics, but it's not his disorder that gets to me-it's the way other people react to him that can ruin my day.
Jeb is different. He isn't interested in demonstrations of affection and rarely looks anyone in the eye. If you speak too loudly, he'll cover his ears and scream at the top of his lungs. Touch him and he'll cry out as if in great pain.
We walk to the park every day, but not to play with the other children; he doesn't enjoy making friends. He only likes hanging out on one particular swing. he'll sway for hours, rocking back and forth. Even though he has an expensive play center of his own in his backyard, it's only on this one swing in the middle of the local playground that he'll play.
Since I've been babysitting him for years, I know what he enjoys, and I allow him almost everything that he wants: the walk to the park, the swing, and his favorite box of crayons when we get home in the evenings. Drawing and writing are usually how he spends most of his nights. He invariably chooses a worn, pale-blue crayon. Then I tuck him into bed and read to him from one of my poetry collections until he falls asleep.
Jeb has never told me he loves me, but rarely does he get into trouble. If he starts to get agitated in public, all I have to do is hand him something to write with; he'll instinctively sit down and stay busy, penning nonsensical words and doodles.
Today at the park I had a mother pull her own child away from Jeb so the child wouldn't "catch" what Jeb has. Another father inquired, "What's wrong with him?" As always, I avoided responding.
When I brought Jeb home, I found his mother reduced to tears. She is often like this. The stress of raising a child who never shows affection tends to wear on a mother after a while.
I sat down at the kitchen table beside her. "What's the matter, Shara?"
Sniffling, she wept. "I gave some of Jeb's papers to an autistic specialist to try and figure out what's going on in his mind, what he's trying to say."
I patted her hand, thinking those scribbles and pictures weren't anything anyone could understand.
"Dr. Matovski told me the pictures were exceptional and increasingly intricate. He said Jeb's words are poetry! The letters and sentences are just backwards!"
"Really?" I gasped. "You mean the stuff Jeb writes actually makes sense!"
She gulped in ragged breaths, pulling out on of Jeb's pieces of construction paper from her purse. "Look."
I glanced down over Jeb's pale-blue crayon scribbles and noticed there were words underneath where the doctor, a pediatric neurologist, must have transcribed.
In the darkness I do lie
Liking the quiet and the night
As she reads a poem of a guy
Who's not afraid of doing what's right.
In my heart I yearn to be
As strong as the hero's will
Whose spirit was unfettered and free
But whose love for women was grander still.
Yet my love hides within my soul
Afraid to break the chains
But withholding my emotions has taken its toll
And for my caretakers only heartache remains.
So to these women I write this poem
To let them know how happy I am
Their love is greater than anything I've known
And it's helping me to become a man.
-Jeb
Together, we collapsed into tears, barely able to comprehend that all this time, Jeb has been feeling fulfilled and appreciating us, loving us.
We were still embracing one another and crying when the phone rang.
"Hello," my friend answered.
"Hello, Shara. This is Dr. Matovski. I just finished transcribing the rest of Jeb's poetry. he surely has some savant abilities. Some of these are quite fascinating. Would you mind if I showed them to a friend of mine, Frank Paterno?"
"Frank Paterno?"
I heard the name and knew he owned a local publishing house.
"Sure," Shara answered. "But first send me more information explaining how you deciphered Jeb's poetry. I want to be able to read them for myself now."
"Of course, Shara. I hope your very proud of your son. He's a very well-adjusted, talented young boy." Dr. Matovski told her.
It's been over a year since that night, and Jeb has now had two poems published in a book made to help raise funds for handicapped children. I'm not sure which his mother is more proud of, his being a poet or just being a "happy" little boy.
I believe it is the latter.
And for me, well, I remain their babysitter. We still have our daily routine of walking to the park, playing on the swing set, writing, drawing, and reading poetry at night. But now when a mother or father asks me what's wrong with him. I remember the pale-blue letters and say, "Nothing. He's perfect."
Babysitting my friend's son is always an experience. Jeb has been diagnosed with some autistic characteristics, but it's not his disorder that gets to me-it's the way other people react to him that can ruin my day.
Jeb is different. He isn't interested in demonstrations of affection and rarely looks anyone in the eye. If you speak too loudly, he'll cover his ears and scream at the top of his lungs. Touch him and he'll cry out as if in great pain.
We walk to the park every day, but not to play with the other children; he doesn't enjoy making friends. He only likes hanging out on one particular swing. he'll sway for hours, rocking back and forth. Even though he has an expensive play center of his own in his backyard, it's only on this one swing in the middle of the local playground that he'll play.
Since I've been babysitting him for years, I know what he enjoys, and I allow him almost everything that he wants: the walk to the park, the swing, and his favorite box of crayons when we get home in the evenings. Drawing and writing are usually how he spends most of his nights. He invariably chooses a worn, pale-blue crayon. Then I tuck him into bed and read to him from one of my poetry collections until he falls asleep.
Jeb has never told me he loves me, but rarely does he get into trouble. If he starts to get agitated in public, all I have to do is hand him something to write with; he'll instinctively sit down and stay busy, penning nonsensical words and doodles.
Today at the park I had a mother pull her own child away from Jeb so the child wouldn't "catch" what Jeb has. Another father inquired, "What's wrong with him?" As always, I avoided responding.
When I brought Jeb home, I found his mother reduced to tears. She is often like this. The stress of raising a child who never shows affection tends to wear on a mother after a while.
I sat down at the kitchen table beside her. "What's the matter, Shara?"
Sniffling, she wept. "I gave some of Jeb's papers to an autistic specialist to try and figure out what's going on in his mind, what he's trying to say."
I patted her hand, thinking those scribbles and pictures weren't anything anyone could understand.
"Dr. Matovski told me the pictures were exceptional and increasingly intricate. He said Jeb's words are poetry! The letters and sentences are just backwards!"
"Really?" I gasped. "You mean the stuff Jeb writes actually makes sense!"
She gulped in ragged breaths, pulling out on of Jeb's pieces of construction paper from her purse. "Look."
I glanced down over Jeb's pale-blue crayon scribbles and noticed there were words underneath where the doctor, a pediatric neurologist, must have transcribed.
In the darkness I do lie
Liking the quiet and the night
As she reads a poem of a guy
Who's not afraid of doing what's right.
In my heart I yearn to be
As strong as the hero's will
Whose spirit was unfettered and free
But whose love for women was grander still.
Yet my love hides within my soul
Afraid to break the chains
But withholding my emotions has taken its toll
And for my caretakers only heartache remains.
So to these women I write this poem
To let them know how happy I am
Their love is greater than anything I've known
And it's helping me to become a man.
-Jeb
Together, we collapsed into tears, barely able to comprehend that all this time, Jeb has been feeling fulfilled and appreciating us, loving us.
We were still embracing one another and crying when the phone rang.
"Hello," my friend answered.
"Hello, Shara. This is Dr. Matovski. I just finished transcribing the rest of Jeb's poetry. he surely has some savant abilities. Some of these are quite fascinating. Would you mind if I showed them to a friend of mine, Frank Paterno?"
"Frank Paterno?"
I heard the name and knew he owned a local publishing house.
"Sure," Shara answered. "But first send me more information explaining how you deciphered Jeb's poetry. I want to be able to read them for myself now."
"Of course, Shara. I hope your very proud of your son. He's a very well-adjusted, talented young boy." Dr. Matovski told her.
It's been over a year since that night, and Jeb has now had two poems published in a book made to help raise funds for handicapped children. I'm not sure which his mother is more proud of, his being a poet or just being a "happy" little boy.
I believe it is the latter.
And for me, well, I remain their babysitter. We still have our daily routine of walking to the park, playing on the swing set, writing, drawing, and reading poetry at night. But now when a mother or father asks me what's wrong with him. I remember the pale-blue letters and say, "Nothing. He's perfect."
Monday, March 3, 2008
See that.... he's waiting for us.
If you have been looking at my countdown, you can see that we are down to about a month left before our big Disney Trip! That's great, except for one little thing, I am not even close to thinking about being ready.
So here is my request. I NEED SUGGESTIONS. I've never flown before, much less flown with three kids. I've got to get spring clothes together for all of us, figure out the luggage. Do I take 8 days worth of crap, or pray for a place to wash clothes?
HELP!!!
So come on, give me your tips......
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Mom's Top 10
Here are the Top 10 ways to know that you are a mom:
1. You spend hours (and I do mean hours) cleaning your master bathroom. You enter that bathroom later to find a giant, bright pink, blow-up bat and a pile of Easter post-its next to your toilet.
2. A certain six year old gets out of the car and turns to you saying.... "I hope you don't get the job."
3. You sweep, dust mop, and polish your floors, take the supplies and put them away, only to return and find a perfect set of Great Dane foot prints in the middle of the floor.
4. New red shoes make you cry with happiness.
5. You spend at least thirty minutes a day doing math problems that you thought you would never do again.
6. You are so worried about letting your child express themselves that you let them create art work.... on the floor.... with chocolate milk. (I borrowed this one from my sister.)
7. You express your artistic side by trying to perfect your "Dinosaur in Crayon"... the kid thought it was a monkey.
8. The only person's hair you don't fix at your house is your own.
9. You will use any form of bribery to encourage the proper use of a toilet.
10. When you take the time to shower and properly groom yourself, people ask you what you did differently.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Finally Better
I am finally better. For lack of more articulate terms, the flu sucks!
During my visit to the ugly underworld of illness, I, being the supper observant person I am, observed several undeniable truths.
Truth #1)- No offense to feminists or anything but men don't keep house.
My husband is particularly wonderful at picking up the reigns when I am unavailable. He does laundry, cooks (very well), takes kids to school, oversees homework, and does it all with a great attitude. However, my house falls completely apart. Men clean (or call it cleaning) in a way I will never understand, taking on projects that no one cares about and leaving messes staring you in the face. For example the table won't be cleared for three days but all filters of any kind will be changed.
Truth #2- I do way to much for my children.
Bless their lazy hearts. Did you know that if a child is not given the exact clothes to wear they cannot dress themselves? Or that if not told specifically they will not brush their teeth?.. and if asked to put away their clean, folded laundry, but not followed and helped with every step, they will just throw them in their floor?
Truth #3- In recent years I have come to think of myself as lazy, but, after 4 excruciating days of laying around, have discovered that I am actually allergic to sitting for long periods of time.
So being sick, although no fun, was a learning experience.
Today I am going to clean (and not one filter will be changed), cook (mine is better), and probably still do to much for my kids.... baby steps.
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