Autism Watch: 2007

Posts Tagged ‘therapy

BB has a new friend. Well, not entirely new — they met each other a year ago in organized sports we’d signed him up for and they’ve seen each other at school here and there, but it has ramped up a lot in the last few weeks as they’ve seen each other for various events, mainly BB’s friend taking him somewhere. Today, we invited his friend over to spend the day, and wow, is it better than Disneyland and the zoo and a computer game store all wrapped into one.

BB has some social skills. Now, that doesn’t mean they’re good social skills, but he’s trying. He plays well for a while, taking the lead, and when he doesn’t get his way anymore or he’s just overwhelmed, he heads back inside to play on his computer. Alone. He wants to have his friend, so after I remind him that leaving him alone out back won’t generate return visits, he heads back out. After a sigh. But I think I made a dent.

His friend is being picked up any minute now, and it’s probably just about time. BB’s mood is wearing thin, the kind of thin where we almost are at a loss and don’t mind if he finds that spending some time in front of his tv watching his DVR’d episodes of Dragon Ball Z and Pokemon is what he wants to do next…for an hour or so. It’s the kind of thin where we’re afraid he’ll offend someone by his impatience or he’ll be rude under the guise of being ‘honest.’ Still working on that one.

Our next step is probably Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, in addition to more advanced social skills training and behavioral therapy at school. And for me? Other parents to talk to, those who can understand what we deal with daily and talk to me without judgment. Oh boy, do I need that…

Monday’s looming large now, and with that comes an early morning. 6am rise and shine and at school by 7:15 in time for his new ‘job’ helping the school on a special project. Just like any parent of a school-aged child, there’s the regular routine, and there’s the feeling of not looking forward to the next five days of rushed mornings, packing lunches, signing notebooks and listening to him vent the entire ride home each day about every.little.thing that occurred. (Who needs a tape recorder when you have BB? I get the perfect play-by-play minus the video, except his explanation is pretty detailed and I can usually envision his stories.) It’s only 6:22pm and I’m already tired just thinking of it. Or maybe that’s just the twitch in my right eye coming back.

As our kids grow, in some ways things improve. In some ways, things get worse. When I can’t hold him and restrain him enough at 75 pounds, what happens at 85? Years ago, I went to a parent support group not long after BB was diagnosed. What I expected was everyone talking about their experiences and people nodding and then going on to the next person. What I needed was being able to hear other moms of kids BB’s age talk about their situations and confirm we weren’t on our own or that we weren’t the only ones who had to make nothing but dairy-free pancakes cut in perfect squares with 3.5 tbsp of maple syrup in order to prevent a pre-school meltdown. What I got was a room full of people all dealing with spectrum kids from severe to mild, sharing their stories while others commiserated, laughed or gave advice. Sounds great, right? It was, until we got 1/4 of the way around the room and reached the parents with kids in high school. Their stories were scary. I was so busy getting through one day at a time that the future hadn’t occurred to me, so when I heard more and more parents talk about how things were just getting worse, how their child wouldn’t get into the car for school (or get out when they did manage to cajole him into getting in) or how their child yelled and they had to call the police to stop a rage, I was devastated. The cookie I ate was boiling in my acidic stomach as my eye twitched a little faster. I think I stopped breathing for a several seconds too long, and I wanted to run to the bathroom, the foyer, the car, anything to get away, except I was in one of the seats that allowed for no escape without disruption. So I sucked it up and let my mind boggle and ‘go there’ while I listened and realized that it was all just beginning.

So many things are better since that day. I have a boy that’s often indistinguishable from his peers for a while, unless you look close, and he’s no longer hurting himself…often. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about the future. I know the mantra is to not worry beyond today, as each day brings its own worries, and to let go and let God, but that’s a work in progress. I too am a lot better since that day, but I’m still Mom, and I still have to remind myself that worrying doesn’t help, action does. Each day, more action to attain more improvement, and the end goal? Happiness for BB. And not just on days we visit Disneyland with the coveted passes I’ll be buying within the week we move back, but all days.

Sometimes, when things are good, we can go days without really thinking about it. The word “autism” doesn’t even enter my head on a level where I have to focus on it, because so many days, that’s just how BB is. I don’t see him as autistic or see his odd behaviors or problems as autism, it’s just BB. But some days, it hits you. Bam, the kick in the stomach that reminds you: my son has a disability.

Autism.

It hits you hard and you almost have to remind yourself to take a breath, because you hadn’t thought about it that way in a while. Maybe it’s just me – maybe I compartmentalize and some might say that’s a bad thing. Some might say “Well, how bad can he be if you are able to forget,” so let me clarify — it’s not that I forget, it’s just that I see him as his own person, just the way he is, and I’m so used to his eccentricities, his sensory problems, his OCD behaviors and the meltdowns that I don’t focus on him being a child with autism. I just see him as a child who needs my love and attention in some different ways.

Yesterday was one of those days. On the heels of last week, when BB refused to go into the school in the morning, and he was a stressed, anxiety-ridden little boy who visibly shook when we mentioned school over the weekend, I didn’t figure yesterday morning would go easily, but I also didn’t expect it to go like it did.

Long story as short as possible, we went to school, with the homework the assistant principal had given him, basically a list of all the things that bothered him, things he wanted to discuss and have fixed. It was a well-written list, big words, proper grammar and spelling, but it still wasn’t pretty. He was candid, almost brutal, in his explanation. He doesn’t like it when someone touches him unasked, so he didn’t hesitate to name names of those who didn’t abide by this rule. (But I have to say, if you have a child with autism in your class, you should also know enough to not just touch them unbidden, so I didn’t feel sorry for those whose names were listed. If you haven’t taken time to learn about autism, knowing you have a child with it in your class, you aren’t being fair to yourself or the student.)

BB handed the list to the AP, and turns to head back to the car. Uhm, no, baby, you have to go into the building. All heck broke loose from there. Reminding him, as quietly as possible, that he wants to be seen like everyone else, so falling to the ground and trying to run away will make him stand out didn’t work. Four staff/administrators later, we were still there. Cars had all gone, and this was when it was a blessing that I have no friends here and neither does he. (Small towns? Not always friendly to newcomers beyond the hello, how are you. And if you’re different? The stares and actual “wow, I’ve never seen someone like you before” comments abound. My daughter’s blue streaks in her hair for Autism Awareness month? Mouths would drop open.) Because of our lack of attachment to anyone here, we were just another group of people on the sidewalk thankfully.

However, when we were still there 45 minutes later, BB in the car after us having given up, my stomach was in knots. My left arm had no feeling, as I’d used it mostly to hold him to me rather than running away. The AP doesn’t believe in dragging children into class, nor do I. If he’s going to be miserable outside, what happens inside? Is it fair to him, and if it escalates, we put him into the position where he could get even more in trouble. So back to the car he went.

This afternoon, we have an emergency IEP. Plans for what to do to make him willing to at least go to school for a modified schedule, for social purposes mainly, will be formulated. We’ll be discussing things that will motivate him to go into school, even if it’s computer-based projects or helping someone out. Then we need to work on friends. How to get him to make friends without the adult intrusion he doesn’t want?

Then we get to discuss ABA and social skills services. We aren’t signing anything that doesn’t include both in writing. Now that they’ve seen the good, the bad, and the ugly, they are aware that a lot goes on behind the surface. They realize that while he may look ‘normal’ quite often, there’s a whole new world in his brain. His thoughts and feelings aren’t obvious, but they matter, and we have to not only help him adapt, but we need to teach him to adapt, and make some adaptations for him as well. Medication is a consideration, but if the problem is mostly happening at school, I’m hesitant to biochemically change his behaviors and/or personality when there’s other options to approach first.

Think happy thoughts for us. Not only is our house not sold yet — four weeks and not one showing — which makes me discouraged and sad, being stuck in a place where we have no friends and don’t want to live anymore (for new readers, we’ve only lived here about 14 mths and we have no close family here either) but now our son is showing signs of major regression and I’m just seconds away from developing a tic again in my eye. It’s not about me, and I don’t want to make it about me, but we could really use a break. BB needs help, and he needs love and acceptance. We can shower him with love, but I can’t buy him the acceptance and the help relies on others.

I hate saying “my son has a disability” but yesterday’s issues really drove it home. Whatever else is going on in our life (such as planning a move that we’d hoped to still make this year) can’t be the focus. BB has to be the focus. Kind of a kick in the pants, and maybe we needed it.

My son’s got autism. He is extremely smart, is verbal and can speak clearly, and is in a regular education class, but he also can’t tolerate certain textures in his foods, doesn’t like eye contact, flaps his fingers, can’t deal with loud sounds or sudden changes in his schedule, lacks social skills, has personal space issues and a strong need for sameness and repetition, as well as difficulty monitoring his moods and anger, can’t stand tags in his clothes or seams in his socks, has to have everything a certain way or he could flip out, and sensory issues ebb and flow. Yet, because he can speak and is so smart, the autism isn’t the first thing you see, or even the second. As a result, some people that don’t live with us — those that haven’t seen him lick everything in sight, flip light switches on/off, line up chairs in waiting rooms, drop to the ground and strip, run away with no fear, meltdown from rage that fades into apathy — don’t get our concerns. They don’t understand why we push so hard for services in school, why we keep things on an even keel no matter what else, or why we treat him any different. Well, uhm, he is different, and the reason you can’t always tell it at first glance is because of all that we’ve done for all these years.

There was a couple of years early on that we barely left the house, and if we did, it was rarely as a family, so few people aside from our closest and most supportive friends saw the ordeals. We could show videos of the worst of the worst, pictures of the vacant stare, or reports from the nine diagnosing doctors and double-digit therapists and other professionals who worked with him. But why should we have to?

What do you do when you run into people who insist on him just being like everyone else, as though better discipline or a spanking or taking away privileges/possessions could just fix it? What do you do with those people who feel like you just need to have it pointed out that he’s not ‘that bad,’ or that if you just throw him out there and let him learn, he’ll do just fine.

Or do we really need to do anything at all? Is it their problem, or something we need to work on?

What are your thoughts?

First, despite being down a child due to the one still living out-of-state for college, it was an excellent Christmas.

I had worries — what happens if it gets too loud, too crazy, he doesn’t get the cellphone he’s been asking for, the list goes on. We had realities — he needed time to decompress, one part of his favorite gift had a minor break the night of Christmas (when he insisted that this kit go with us to see family, despite us telling him not to take it), he got over the cellphone even though his cousin the same age got one (despite us telling him ten-year-olds don’t need cellphones), he had meltdowns during both the decoration of the gingerbread house and the gingerbread cookies (maybe the ginger smell gets to him?) and he cried more than once that his oldest sister wasn’t with us. But, he made it through and nothing was that serious.

The good things, the things that went above and beyond ‘normal’ Christmas fun, negated the problems. He spent hours playing tag in the dark with his cousins on Christmas night, he played basketball with them, without a problem, and when his sister spent the night (without anyone really inviting him), he came home without a problem or even a mention. But the biggest deal? The thing that made this Christmas absolutely most amazing? SNOW.

We’d been hearing for days that it would snow late Christmas night. A lot of people said that it wouldn’t really happen, it’d be a sprinkling to not get excited about, and how ridiculous it was to want it to snow. Still, we wanted it to snow and hoped the weatherman would be right. Before we moved from the west coast, we had to drive an hour or so to get to the snow, and we’d get to the beautiful mountains only to see that every other family within three hours was there right along with us. In your square foot of clean white untrodden snow, you could play but if you had to use a restroom, get your car out of the rut in the snowbank or want to avoid ambulances because too many people decided fast-food lunch trays were credible, safe sledding devices, you were out of luck. We went to bed close to midnight, and I woke every hour to see if it was snowing. Around 4:30, we’d gotten a couple of inches, so I woke BB up as promised. He wouldn’t go past the front porch — I think the sheer cold caught him off-guard. I took a few pictures and went back to bed. I was woken up around 8am with a loud HECK YEAH from dh. Snow, and not just a little. Inches and inches, and it was still falling. We woke up BB and our older son (dd was still at her cousin’s) and took pictures at the dogs’ first foray in the snow. Hilarious. They loved it, and didn’t want to come back in. We bundled BB up as much as he’d let us and he ran out to jump into the snow. Dad went to get snow gear out of storage at the in-laws and it was four hours before BB would come inside; even then, it was only to get some lunch. Another couple of hours of snow play followed, where we built three full-size snow forts and a slide, had numerous snowball wars, and built a life-sized snowman, complete with carrot nose. He then pooped-out, made a bed in front of the fireplace, pulled out his favorite gift (the magic kit) and put on Despicable Me. The snow’s still around, three days later, but he has no interest in going back out. He just wanted to be sure we put a scoop of snow in the freezer to save as evidence of our awesome day. Works for me, a lot of good memories from that one day.

We’re noticing that the “I must be in charge” trait is coming out really heavily. It’s hard to deal with some days. I can say “Please wait five minutes until I get <xxx> done, and then I’ll make your snack,” and he barrels on about the snack, as though I’ve not even spoken. “Mom, want to hear a joke?” “Sure! Let me finish dressing and I’ll be right out.” But he has other ideas, he’s telling me through the door. “Can I read this story to you?” “Yes, as soon as I’m off the phone.” As fast as I can finish my sentence, he’s reading the story to me, like he never heard me. I can have conversation after conversation with him about how friendships/discussions are two-way. One talks, then the other talks. One chooses the activity, then the next chooses the activity. And I daily teach him that he can’t tell me when I can get up and get a drink, when I can start dinner, or what I’m putting on the TV. Yet we go on and on with him insisting he’s in charge, having such a hard time dealing with the fact that the world doesn’t operate on his plans, and that other people have wants and needs and their own minds. Such a test of my patience, though he’s not being malicious. I can’t be mad when he often just wants to sit with me, cuddle with me, or read with me. It’s just something we need to work on, but if only there was a therapy or something available that a) worked, and b) was available to people with jobs and other kids to provide for as well.

Come the new year, aka the closest we’ll get to normalcy, we’re going to start working with the RDI program. I’ve got a couple of excellent other books to read as well, including “Lost at School,” and I hope to put some of what I learn to use, adding to my homegrown degree in Autism. (That should probably come before my web/blog design certification studies and photography and Photoshop classes. Oh, and the jewelry I need to get to the consignment store.)

Today, we ventured out of our snow-covered city and visited a local zoo. What a blast! BB was upset at first, said he didn’t want to be there (he’d forgotten his gum at home and that constituted enough reason for him to hate the outing) and that he’d rather be at the movies. (However, the movies wouldn’t work as the only one they wanted to see showed too late this evening to make the trek home during this holiday-traffic week that time of night.) He got over his issues soon enough though, and we had a great time. As always, the second he got there, he was hungry. And thirsty. And hungry again an hour later. I almost spend more on food when we got anywhere than I do on tickets! Tomorrow is going to be a ‘stay at home’ day, where he gets to decompress before family visits on New Year’s Eve, and any partying we may do that evening. I think we’ll make cookies, and I mean we loosely — we’ll start, and I’ll end up finishing them beyond the first tray.

Happy New Year’s to all!

As I’ve bemoaned about recently, we’re in the midst of a move. We’re excited about moving but the move itself, not so much. It’s work. A lot of it. It’s chaos. As I type this, I have a bottle of barbecue sauce next to me on the table, because I was packing up our Nascar cabinet and I am not moving a bottle of barbecue sauce, even if it has a picture of our favorite Nascar race car on it. We love our driver, but barbecue sauce sitting in a box for six months…no, thank you. Past the barbecue sauce is a stack of boxes, and an empty hutch that once held our Nascar collectibles. Tons of it. Wow, I could sponsor a race if I sold it all. It was no easy feat packing up the autographed memorabilia, the occasional lug nut and odd items collected from race tracks for the last six years. Beyond that, empty boxes, calling my name, screaming “Pack pictures in me! Wrap the rest of your wine glasses and put them in me too!” Then there’s my couch, nestled amongst those boxes and a pile of displaced items that had a home on a wall unit until my husband moved it to put it in the 53′ trailer we now own in the morning. And that’s just one room, so you get the idea. (I’ll spare you what my bedroom looks like, devoid of half its furniture and items, leaving me wondering how I’ll peacefully sleep in there for the next 2-3 weeks.)

Last night, I had to go through BB’s toy cabinets. He has two huge ones, and there was overflow under his foozball/air hockey table, and in his sister’s closet. It took me quite some time to sort out the things I knew he wouldn’t want, and then to ask him over and over, “Do you want this? What about this?” “Mom, I’m too old for Hungry, Hungry Hippos..” and “Mom, we played Guess Who so much at therapy, I don’t want it anymore.” On one hand, I was repeatedly thinking how great it was that we only had to pack half of his stuff. But on the other hand? My baby is growing up!

There was some sadness as I stacked Chutes ‘n Ladders in the garage sale pile. We’d played that game over and over. It didn’t require him to speak or maintain eye contact, and he’d win almost every time. The cards that he’d sort out and lay out perfectly in order, side by side, not off by a hair went, too. I almost kept them, but what in the world would I do with them? They were a good memory, because we’d spent hours upon hours working and playing together, but they were bittersweet — they were such a sign that he had autism, and I never picked up on it.

I was so happy when he chose to pack his Ratatouille chef’s hat and apron. He looks so darn cute when he puts them on and makes his famous Club Cracker, mustard and deli meat sandwiches. He decided to keep all his dinosaurs and his pirate swords, but I was sad when he put the “little kid” pirate costume in the go pile. Sniff. Then we got to things I was sure he’d keep, all his Hot Wheels and Matchbox buildings and garages. “Mom, I’m not a little kid anymore.” Then my husband just had to chime in, “His interests have changed, it’s okay.” I think he knew my ambivalence about seeing some other kid run away with Rocket Park playset, something he’d play with for hours, even if he played with it a bit weirdly. When the entire Little People world goes, for not a cheap price, I may cry.

He’s got a new interest in drawing this week, and it’s one that fits right in with his computer animation and gaming interests. We’ll definitely be encouraging it and getting him whatever training he wants, as long as it remains fun for him. He drew an eagle that easily rivals something a much older child would do, and Dad was amazed at how fast he did it. (Dare I say that part of me is thinking a-ha, I passed something down! I was an art freak and an art major. It’s still a love of mine, though now I mainly view art instead of creating it. Who has time and the kind of focus it needs?)

Now we’re at the phase of the move where he just wants it over with. The disruption of his bedroom and routine is getting on his nerves. When he asks for a new subscription for a month to Club Penguin or wants to go see a movie on a certain day, I have to remind him that we’ll be on the road for five days, and in transition a few days before and after that. Online time may be at a premium. (Then again, we are staying at KOAs with wi-fi all the way through our drive.) He wants to move, but doesn’t hesitate to remind me, frequently, how much it’s getting in the way of his normal things. Sigh. Please, Lord, let the rest of escrow go smoothly and let it all come together so we can really be out of here soon.

I guess there’s no other way to put it politely. I’ve been avoiding the blog. I deal with autism all day every day, in some aspect or another, and lately, when I have a spare minute, the last thing I feel like doing is blogging about it. More autism? No thanks, I’ll pass.

But, I think I’m over it. Or at least for now?

The last few weeks…I don’t want to re-live them, but they’ve taken away a lot of faith that people really do love thy neighbor. Maybe I was naive that they ever really did, but I guess I’d been lucky. I’d had good neighbors and aside from the occasional nosey stranger, going out in public was getting easier. But now? I don’t let my son out in the front yard without constant supervision. Out in public, like at the county fair just last Monday, we had to stay on him like glue, after a couple of random unknowns spoke out of turn. (Who knew an empty marshmallow shooter was dangerous to sleeping iguanas?)

But, onwards and upwards. We’ve packed our garage and our china is boxed. House plans are chosen, and tentative house sale dates chosen. It’s not only a reality now, but it’s an agenda that is going to be daily for quite some time now. On a good note, BB is ready for it. He’s ready for a fresh start, new neighbors that won’t talk crap about him because they have nothing better to do. He won’t be blamed for their inability to control their own children. We’ve learned a lot from this experience, and we’re thankful that we can walk away from the garbage. The small-minded ignorant people can’t leave that behind, no matter where they go. We’ll soon have different¬†family to celebrate holidays with, and while we’re going to miss our close friends, BB is going to have 5+ acres to run around on. Animals to chase. Bugs to corral. Gardening to help me with. Healthier food, because we’re going to fish from our pond and eat our homegrown veggies and fruit. Mom and Dad will have less errands, so the stress will decrease and the overall pace will be more enjoyable.

In the meantime, school is doing well. He visits the nurse’s office often — ‘burning fingers,’ ‘sore legs,’ or ‘too hot.’ But the staff sees him for what he is: a sweet little guy who likes to talk and is entertaining but just needs to vent and get things out of his system. Like us, they’ve learned it’s better to give him ten minutes of time or he’ll whine and be unhappy for 30. Ten minutes of attention, even five in a pinch, make all the difference. He starts a new social skills program in a couple of weeks, at school (once a week) and we’re also working on using Rick Lavoie’s recommended approach towards dealing with his behavioral and discipline issues. It was recommended at his weekly therapy and we really like it. The DVD is called “When the Chips are Down.” It’s old (think late-80s-ish?) but the process is timeless.

So, there you have it. More personal viewpoints on daily life with autism and less of the general perspective. We’ll see what tomorrow brings!

Sometimes, BB’s moods can literally change as fast as you can flick a switch..minus the switch. Things seem good, he seems compliant, and you’re able to relax. Then WHAM, it hits. The mood shift.

Not sure what brought it on tonight. He’d been testy all afternoon, easily riled but in a way that he’d just respond like “yeah, so, whatever.” A mean kind of sarcasm, intended to show his complete and utter disrespect and disregard for anyone else. His first day of school was today, but there were no problems there. We got home, and he told me about three things that made him happy. He showed me his homework, and I left to run and get yet another batch of school supplies. (But, luckily, none for his class! Not sure if she just hasn’t sent the list home yet, or there isn’t any. Dare I hope?) I came home, he was playing with the boy around the corner. You know, Boy A from The Day from Hell a couple of weeks ago. (Boy A is the good boy in the story.) He supposedly accidentally ran into a smaller neighbor child on his bike, admitted it, and I made him go apologize. He said “sorry,” and stalked off, arms folded, head down. On one hand, it was a huge step, something he wouldn’t normally do. On the other hand, we’ve got a ways to go. He even was invited to go to the park with another neighbor girl from his class. Yay!

Fast forward until he returns inside and I have to make him eat dinner. It was a you push, I push (not literally, just figuratively) type of dinner, where he’d eat a bite, wander, I’d make him return, he’d have another bite. And it all went downhill from there. I had to make him get in the shower, help him wash, and while he was in there, took away his Nintendo DS and assortment of related gadgets, hide his TV remote, and let him know there will be no playing outside after school tomorrow. I hate taking that away, but the “Shut your BIG.FAT.MOUTH” put me over the edge. He was made to go straight to bed after teethbrushing, without a story or anything. It’s been 45 minutes, and he’s still not called me out to say sorry, which is unusual. He seems so bent on staying mad. No matter what I did, he said “Fine, whatever. Shut up.”

Dad’s still in Pennsylvania, beautiful but in the middle of nowhere. Our ability to talk for any period of time is minimized by his work schedule and three-hour time zone difference. I’m up at 5am, but he’s already been working a couple of hours by that point. We tried to talk tonight — I went on a serious rant after I heard the latest form of ‘no new taxes,’ or as I call it, California’s stealing of my money. (Don’t we normally have to apply for loans? Why can they just take an ‘interest-free loan’ out of our paychecks, on top of increased yearly taxes, higher car registration rates, and everything else costing more. How do people live?? I digress. Let’s just say it’s definitely motivated us to be sure our house is up for sale at the proper time so we can get the heck out. I can’t do it here anymore.) Dh gave me lists of lists to write down, but when BB started acting up, it all went out of my head. I might remember when I have a chance to breathe, which at this rate will probably be on Saturday.

I don’t mind being single mom. I stay up later, I have my laptop out without fear of noisy keys, I cook when we want it, and I’m capable of doing just about all I need to do. (Okay, so I had to ask dd’s bf to take out my trash cans. But, that’s not my fault our RV is in the way, right?) I miss dh, but I was a single mom of two kids when we met, and I lost my mom young. ¬†I’ve been independent for a long time. Sadly, I really miss the reinforcement right now. I am exhausted. 5am comes early, and with school dropoff/pickup, chores, grocery shopping, Costco trips, numerous Target trips, getting crickets and goldfish for the animals, cleaning out the turtle tank, signing the bajillion school forms, and then BB…I hate to whine, but I’m tired. I took a melatonin tonight, hoping I can sleep all the way through. Of course, that depends on how well BB sleeps. One nightmare or sleepwalking event will kill it, but I can hope.

Tomorrow night we have BB’s therapy, and I am hoping to let them know the issues we’re seeing and see what help we can get. I know he doesn’t want to be a boogar, but when he seems so unfazed by his affect on others, I have to look to see what we can do to stop that. He’s such a doll, so loving and so smart, but when he’s telling you to shut your mouth, over and over, and looks at you so emotionless, it’s hard to remember the rest.

I do have respite on Wednesday night, and my friend and I are heading out to see Julie/Julia. I can’t wait! Not only does it just look cute and I love Meryl Streep, but it’s about a blogger! Who here can’t relate??


Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 36 other followers

Twitter Updates