You Are What You Eat

I KNOW! Isn't it great????

Sushi.

The food of the GODS.

And overworked school teachers.

And after staring at my best friend's backside all day (she's the one on the left) I left school and immediatley went to our local sushi place and ordered some rolls.

And for the record, my amazing, sexy, patient, brilliant husband built these costumes from the ground up. HOLLA!

Happy Halloween!!

Bistro Baby Blues

I am sitting at a French Bistro with my sister, who in my opinion happens to be WAY too beautiful and really, God could have distributed the genetic wealth a little more fairly, but anyway.....

The banquet room is crowded with women of all ages.....estrogen is thick in the air and every time a male waiter walks into the room his eyes dart around quickly, as if trying to remember where the emergency exists are.....you know, in case we all start menstruating at the same time (Even God couldn't save him if that were to ever happen).

We are at a friend's baby shower and the centerpieces are gorgeous, the food is rich and fattening and for some reason I keep hearing this super loud ticking that gets in the way of every conversation I am trying to have.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Tick


My uterus is whispering to me "I am ready, you know you want to." My heart is nodding in agreement, "Babies have the best smell. Do you remember how tiny they are? How amazing it is to hold them close to your breast and let the unconditional love permeate your cells right down to your soul?" My voluptous (my blog, my adjectives) tummy hisses "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!" and my pocketbook shakes in fear.

I was not expecting this.
I am tired.
I have two kids.
I have two very wonderful, loving, full of life kids.
I have a child with autism who has very specific and special needs.
I love my children.

So why did I, in the middle of that quaint bistro, begin to question our decision to be done? Why did I tell people that we were 90% sure that we were finished? Why did I leave Babies R Us with a heavy heart when I realized that I would not be wielding the registry gun again?

Because I would, if we could, have another. I would, if we weren't worried about the very significant risk that our third child would end up having autism. I hate that the statistics are against us and that we can't just try for a little girl because if we did we might sentence her to a life of speech therapy and neurologist visits and ABA intervention and sensory deficits.

And this makes me angry.
And embarrased.
Because I have many blessings to count. I am a lucky woman with a family I adore. I have more than enough love in my life and so when I started to feel resentful about these genetic limitations, I was unpleasantly surprised.

Life is a process. And a significant part of my life is facing simple yet powerful truths, like, another baby would be put at huge risk for autism, a risk that we are not willing to take.

So i have to accept that we are......... done.
And that makes me grieve.

Because it's not really on my terms, is it?

But I know that the children we have been gifted with are here for a reason, and they fulfill us as parents in ways we never could have imagined.

So as I carefully navigate through emotions that continue to startle and sneak up on me, I need only to look across my laptop as superman mows down a pudding cup to be reminded how TWO is the perfect number.

Plus, when my sister finally decides to procreate, I am so taking the registry gun away from her.

Jesus Is In My Air Freshener

I kid you not.

I discovered this strange phenomenon a week or so ago. I was just doing my thing in the bathroom when I looked up and......, Jesus was staring right at me from the glass cinammon apple air freshener i keep on the counter. It was startling and creepy to say the least.

So of course, i called in monchichi's ABA therapist and made her sit on the toilet.

"Tell me what you see" I said to her.

"Um, an air freshener."

"Look closer. Just relax and take a deep breath and look again" I told her, hovering over her hunched body, which was perched on the toilet in our guest bathroom.

"hmmmmm...............OH! OH WOW! I see it!!!"

"What? What DO YOU SEE?"

"I SEE JESUS!"

This is an educated woman. That is why I asked for her unbaised opinion. Because she is a qualified professional that works with my child several hours each day and is in a Master's Program and is super put together.

And she saw Jesus!

And so did my sister.

And my mom.

And my husband.

And my sister's boyfriend (or as I like to call him, her common-law-husband)

And last night my skeptical best friend was going pee when she came out of the bathroom, stone-faced and slightly shaken up:

"I saw him!"

So now I ask you, smart and unbaised reader:

What do you see?

*Just for the record, this photo is real. We did not photoshop it in any way. It is exactly what is sitting on our bathroom counter as I type this.*

I know who you're going to vote for......

Your kids told me.

Yep.

All was divulged.

Grown up opinions coming from mouths covered in candy corn.

"He's weird."

"He's too old to do the job."

"I don't like him."

"Rock Obama!"

"McCain!"

"Teacher, can I go potty?"

And so went our first introduction to freedom, elections, and the right to vote in our small and loving kindergarten class. It is amazing what a child will retain when in the midst of adult conversations. My five year old students had passionate opinions about both candidates, which led me to believe that at least part of those opinions were formed at the dinner table while mom and dad discussed the economy, healthcare, and the war on Iraq. Or they have nonstop access to CNN.

And I get the privilage of hearing these opinions firsthand during group discussions.

But echoing parental sentiments is not only reserved for topics relating to the upcoming election.

My little munchkins will discuss just about anything you discuss in the privacy of your home. Little people have great listening skills (more commonly referred to as "selective hearing") although I am pretty sure I don't get the conversations verbatim or in their entirety.

Which of course makes for entertaining dialouge.

And since superman is one of my students this year, his front and center presence in my classroom is a constant and gentle reminder to lower my voice when discussing anything from itchy body parts to account balances to which student happened to cause my pounding headache and grumpy mood.

Because ALL will be repeated. In 0ne way or another. And you never know which teacher, neighbor, grocery store clerk or relative is listening.

Just a gentle reminder.

Questioning Myself

It has been almost a month since I last posted.

Not because my life is dull, or I have no opinions.

But because I am a closet writer.

That's right. I have yet to admit to myself that I know I am good enough to blog publicly and build readership and engage people as I spin stories about kids, autism, night time eating and other valuable and important topics.

I question myself.
I wonder if I am good enough.
Witty enough.
Strong enough.
Passionate enough.

But how can I discover that if I continue to cower everytime I see my laptop sitting at the table, beckoning me to log on and type.

I need to write more for me than for you, but i hope you join me on the journey. You may be inspired. You may be bored. You may decide you could care less about what I have to say.

But I am going to say it anyway.

And I am going to hone a skill I have loved but failed to nurture, protect, and practice.

My Writing.