Guy Fieri is kind of a tool.

The title has nothing whatsoever to do with the post, but it needed to be said. Honestly, a drum set and pool table as background on his set? Ugh.

Anyway, I failed to post anything yesterday but given the post content on Friday I think it was still an improvement so I declare a win. I am just about to leave the house for a LINKS group planning session. A couple local families (HI!) have generously volunteered ((I’m pretty sure they volunteered themselves but I might have volunteered them too.)) to assist with the group sooooo it’s time to plan some social and fund raising activities! Anyone got suggestions? 🙂

 

Moving along quickly.

Leaving that post up here makes me feel like I left my underwear ((Clean!)) out when guests came over. Not like if Great Grampy saw them ((Utterly mortifying! Sort of like the time Monkey showed Grampy a video on YouTube. It was a Pixar spoof called D.ixar. Fortunately, his eyesight is not what it once was so he could not identify the, uh, object hopping across the screen.)), more like if one of you all saw them ((Mildly embarrassing. Sort of like the time I wrote about my underwear on the internet.)). Right, so, changing subjects quickly because, seriously, I have no excuse to be discussing my underwear on the internet. AND! Where on earth does this come from? I’m sure there are other much more appropriate analogies but noooo, my mind goes straight to my unmentionables. My head is screaming abort, abort, abort and my fingers…they march cheerily on. My apologies.

So, moving that post off the main page…that is a good goal and setting achievable goals is a sure fire way for me to feel better. It’s therapy. Talking about my underwear as therapy, interesting. Gah, moving on NOW!

What on earth is an appropriate topic after all that? Probably one I should avoid since both my mother and my father read this and they’re probably writing me out of the will and canceling our summer reservations at their camp this very moment.

Perhaps I should just set a goal of doing better tomorrow? I mean, really, that shouldn’t be too hard.

Unshareable thoughts shared.

I’m moody and snappy and irritated beyond all reasonable limits given the relatively happy situation ’round these parts. My thoughts are tilting noticeably to the blackhearted and ugly and I hate that. It’s not who I am.

It’s weird at times to sit here and type away, sharing so much of myself and my family and not really knowing who is reading it. Most days I don’t think about it. Then again, most days I’m sharing safe thoughts and feelings. Not all of my thoughts and feelings are safe though, some of them scare me.

That whole IEP thing, for example. Sure, it was mildly annoying but I didn’t react like it was an annoyance. I reacted like it was a threat or an attack of some sort. I stewed and fumed about it all weekend. I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about it, getting angry about it again and again. I thought up lots of vicious and cutting things to say to this woman ((Who I have never met.)) who obviously had evil intentions.

Does that sound crazy to you? Yeah, it does to me too. I don’t like the person who thinks those things, who feels that way.

What is at the root of all this? I don’t feel better. It’s been a month since I restarted my Welbutrin and I do not feel better. I should. I want to, oh my god, do I want to. I’m tired of being tired and snappy and having to work so hard to keep focused on the positives.

I’m trying to convince myself that my awareness of my unreasonable moods is evidence that I am getting better. I am just not all the way there yet. But I’m really and truly scared right now that this time it won’t work and that I’m going to feel exhausted and overwhelmed and depressed forever. I’m not supposed to feel this way anymore! I’m supposed to at least be able to feel the freaking breeze on my cheeks.

I know this isn’t rational. I know that I will feel better someday. Maybe tomorrow or maybe the day after that, something will give me the boost I need to get back on the positive side. But there is always that little voice in the deepest part of my brain though that whispers that maybe this time is different. Maybe I won’t ever feel better.

It’s the most hopeless feeling in the world when that voice is louder than anything else.

They multiply like rabbits.

Oh, I’m going to get some great search hits from that title *smile* ((Did I mention that I got one recently that has cracked me up randomly since I saw it? It was: why do my balls smell like maple syrup? *Snort*))

What I meant, is that once again I have two drafts in my drafts folder that I’m too chickensh*t to post. The first one was downright depressing and the second one started out talking about the first in general terms and then fresh ugly stuff erupted. I hate when that happens…terribly messy.

So (in my best chirpy voice), let’s talk about Monkey.

This morning Duhdee was really, really sore ((His sciatica is getting worse again after so much progress *sigh*)) so I was on my own to get Monkey ready for school and I did it in record time, I might add. He was bathed and fed and dressed early enough that I let him use his laptop for a while.  He was happily watching airplane videos while I finished getting ready and when I grabbed his coat he closed down YouTube, put his jacket on and then ran…away….as in, not toward the stairs which lead to the truck which takes us to school. Grrr. It had been going so smoothly and now I’m going to have to drag him from his room, down the stairs and to the truck and probably into school for good measure.

I walked into his room and, just as I’m about to open my mouth to bark a few orders at him, overhear him saying “Are you? Are you?” while he looks through his toy storage…thing…I should post a picture of it, it’s quite cool and I designed it myself. Anyway, I asked him what he was looking for, not expecting an answer really when he stopped, looked at me and said, “Airplane.” 

Thankfully, I actually knew where that was. Once I handed it to him he trotted off toward the stairs yelling, “Ready! Ready!” Woot! Any morning free of Monkey-wrangling is a good morning.

And that’s what I need to focus on right now…another good morning…

Doomed! DOOMED!

I am a little, err, somewhat, OK, ridiculously ticklish. When I was little my mother, my mother, would torture me by…pretending to tickle me. I would be laughing helplessly on the floor and her hands never got closer than 4″ to my body. But I hated being ticklish, perhaps because my mother, my own mother for pity’s sake, thought this was hysterical.

You expect that sort of treatment from big brothers, right? And I had two of those so…I certainly got some of their brand of torture too. Their idea of torture, though, was scarily close to actual torture and involved filament lines strung between trees and 4 foot deep pits dug in the woods and covered with branches to conceal them ((To their credit, they never put any sharp objects at the bottom of the pit.)) from pesky little sisters who might follow them ((Everywhere)) into the woods. We certainly couldn’t have that happen because pesky little sisters might tattle on them when they played war games with actual guns…OK, fine, they were “only” bb guns. Dude, I get on some wicked tangents sometimes.

Anyway, to me tickling = torture. Monkey, however, loves to be tickled. He craves tickling. It’s actually something we can do to him to make him comfortable in an otherwise uncomfortable situation, like an exam room. He laughs these great big belly laughs that make me want to eat him right up. Honestly, those curls plus that laugh = code red on the Monkey-nomming scale. Though, to be honest, the Monkey-nomming scale is generally at a pretty high level of yellow. The poor kid is used to it and even makes the snarfing sounds I make on his neck when the nomming commences to coax me into doing it sometimes. I can’t even make it a whole paragraph without a tangent.

As I was trying to say, Monkey also loves to make people laugh. Recently he has made the connection that tickling Money = helpless laughter. Do you see where this is going ((Seriously, if you do, you deserve a cookie because I was not sure until just now.))?

This evening, while I was trying to get the little beast in his pajamas, he took every single opportunity he could find to stick his hands under my arm to tickle me! You know what, there are a lot of opportunities to tickle someone when they’re focused on squishing a little Monkey into his pajamas!

To sum up…

Money: tickle = torture
Monkey: tickle = helpless laughter

I’m doomed. DOOMED!

The explanation for that letter from the school district.

I spoke to Monkey’s teacher this morning, since she’s the teacher she is the team leader and I know (and love) her, I thought I would ask her about it.

So. Yes, it reads like a 3 year reevaluation but it’s really only an annual. Kindergarten is such a big year for kids and he’s come so far they want to repeat the evaluations again. I made her say ((Twice.)) that it’s an annual meeting. So we are ALL clear.

And I’m still e-mailing Super Advocate copies of everything before I sign anything.

OH! Also! They hired another assistive tech specialist so the district is back up to two…from zero in November when our tech specialist passed away. That’s the good news. The gooder ((It’s Monkey Monday (geeze), cut me some grammatical slack!)) news is that his teacher acknowledged that Monkey has not received any of his tech services since November and that the school must make them up. The less good news…the new specialist has been assigned to Monkey’s school so we are transitioning to our 3rd tech specialist in 5 months which means she isn’t going to know how to use Monkey’s device and will need training…which will be the 3rd training session we’ve had to set up with the device manufacturer.

Oh, and, Monkey hates the device. You know, the one we fought for two years to get my insurance company to buy for him? Yeah, that one…ugh. We knew he wasn’t a fan of it at home but no one has said anything about him refusing to use it at school before. The teacher confirmed this morning, when I brought it up, that he hates it and does everything he can to avoid using it…which has resulted in him popping out with some new words…he’ll say anything to avoid the stupid thing. Not precisely what we were going for…

There’s a reason he gets his way…

oh, boy, is this child ever adorable *sigh*

Duhdee is cooking dinner, Grammy & Grampy have come to visit. Tonight’s dinner is homemade beef stew and it is divine. Monkey, however, is not impressed. While Grammy, Duhdee and I were in the kitchen chatting Monkey came out asking for blueberries. Alas, he had eaten all of the blueberries. His next request? Pizza. Of course.

Pizza is not an option…and we told Monkey so.

Then Monkey:

  1. Grabbed his stool;
  2. Flipped through the menus we keep on the top of the fridge ((Yeah, he’s that tall.))
  3. Found the menu for our favorite pizza place;
  4. Handed the menu to Duhdee;
  5. Grabbed Duhdee’s smart phone;
  6. Navigated to the phone icon;
  7. Held the phone to Duhdee’s ear;
  8. And said, Pizza?

It turns out that pizza was an option for such an adorable and enterprising little Monkey.

New and creative ways to drive parents nuts.

Guess who got a letter from the special education office setting up an IEP meeting! It is that time of year, we’ve been expecting the teacher to mention it at any time now and let us know what they were proposing. It is not rocket science, right? Right.

So…it’s a bit disturbing to receive a letter that says

  1. that the meeting is to determine Monkey’s continued eligibility for special education services, and
  2. that the evaluations were set up in consultation with us.

Mmmhmmm. OK, first, the 3 year re-evaluation was done last year and it was determined that he was still eligible for special education services. They don’t get another bite at that apple until 2013. So, they are either 2 years early or they have completely screwed up his records. Anyone want to guess which it will be ((If you guessed that they are two years early, try again!))? And, second, this letter is the first we’ve heard about any evaluations. I wonder who they consulted with? Monkey must have some legal guardians out there we don’t know about…hmmm…I wonder if they’d babysit for us?

You know, it must be really inconvenient for them when parents actually read the communications they send out…the really *itchy part of me wants to send the form back in rejecting all their proposed evaluations…instead I’ll call and nicely remind them what year it is ((No, really, I will be nice. I swear.)).