Laundry is evil

While playing on twitter ( what do you MEAN you don't follow @ihave7monsters on twitter?! GASPILICIOUS!!), a group of moms and I were moaning about laundry. So much so, that Jill of the Yeah....Good Times blog felt the urge to share with me a blog post she had written about laundry, and how to turn that frown upside down, because laundry is a challenge, and provokes such a feeling of accomplishment when it's all done.. and stuff like that there. To see her post, (be warned, it is rated R for language) click here. Go ahead, I'll wait for you before I continue on.

Are you done yet?

How about now?

NOW are you done yet??

After I stopped laughing, and wiped away tears of mirth at Jill's idea of a LOT of laundry, I unglued my behind from my computer chair, grabbed my handy dandy digital Kodak, took a little walk down the hall of the Monster House, got vaccinated, and stepped into what used to be my laundry room. 

Now, you need to know some facts. Every week, the Daddy throws a royal hissy and pouts and foams at the mouth until the monsters clean their rooms. HazMat clothing and face masks are donned, we pull out the shovels, rakes and big, black lawn & leaf bags, whining begins, threats fly around ... it's what we do for entertainment. I have considered hiring a front end loader. 

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As you know, I am retired. This means I only have three jobs now. 1) Snuggle the monsters, 2) make dinner, and 3)do the laundry. I think I got a raw deal here. What do YOU think? This is my current Matterhorn of laundry from the latest spelunking expedition into the monster bedrooms and the nursery. We are horribly abusive parents, and require that the bed linens get changed weekly, as well. *sigh* I have completed 7 loads of wash, and folded them. The pictures show the remainder. Woe is me.

This is the view from my laundry room door in the hall. I can't currently close it.... unless I have unexpected company. Then you would be surprised at what miraculous things can happen! Those little white rectangular things on the left? Super capacity washer and dryer. They look so tiny and cute in this picture.....

Notice the look of, "What?!?!" on notorious #5's face. This is because I told him he absolutely was NOT allowed to slide down the "laundry hill" again. Yes, I am aware that he is wearing the same outfit in THIS blog post as he was in the pecan pie experiment post. It's his favorite, and really people, that was a week ago!

Once again, this experience has provoked a thought process. Just how much laundry DOES the Monster House go through in a week? Here's the math ( the Daddy does his own washing):

8pair of socks x 7 days= 112 socks

8 pair of pants x 7 days= 56 pairs of pants

2 Sunday dresses

2 Boys' dress shirts

2 boys' dress slacks

2 pair dress socks

8 t-shirts x7 days= 56 t shirts

7 camis x 7 days= 49 camis

6 pair of underwear x 7 days= 42 pair of underwear

5 towels x 7 days= 35 towels

8 sets of sheets= 16 sheets

8 pillowcases

assorted kitchen towels and dishrags

I wonder why I hate doing the laundry. And the fam wonders why I throw a hissy when I find folded laundry buried in the middle of the Matterhorn.....

Chanukkah, oh Chanukkah...

It's here! It's here! Chanukkah is finally here! We light our first candle tomorrow at sundown! And make LATKES!!

What? Really? You don't know what latkes are?? Well, bubbelehs, let Bubbe rectify that situation right now.

Latkes (pronounced "lot'-kuhs") are the ultimate yum in GF/CF/SF kid-friendly food! They're a bit like hash browns. Only bigger. And we eat them for dinner. There are all kinds of variations on original latkes, but traditional latkes are simply potatoes fried in oil with a bit of salt and pepper and an egg to hold it together. Onion if you like it. (Bubbe likes it.)

They can be eaten plain, or with jam, or sprinkled with sugar, or for those who can do dairy, with sour cream. Sour cream AND sugar. Pumpkin butter. Apple butter. Ketchup. Mayonnaise. Really, whatever you want to put on it! But traditionally they're topped with jams, granulated sugar (the texture of the sugar is a sensory pleasure), and/or sour cream.

Historically, latkes are a tradition that comes out of Eastern Europe. At winter time, there wasn't a lot of flour or fresh vegetables, but root vegetables, tubers, they were still in plentiful supply. So potatoes feature rather prominently in Jewish food for winter festivals.

And remember, Chanukkah is the festival of light (from oil), and so we eat foods fried in oil, so potatoes + oil = latkes.

So I won't keep you in suspense any longer, bubbelehs. Here's a traditional latke recipe:

• 3 large potatoes
• 1 small onion
• 2 beaten eggs or equivalent egg replacer
• 2 tablespoons GF flour (whatever you have on hand or just leave it out)
• 1 teaspoon salt
• pinch pepper
• 1/2 cup oil

Wash the potatoes very well, but don't peel them. Grate coarsely into a bowl. Grate in the onion. (Use a grater, not a food processor.)

Add the beaten eggs, flour, salt, and pepper. Let the mixture sit for ten minutes to thicken. Pour off excess liquid.

Heat the vegetable oil for one minute in a frying pan, then drop small spoonfuls of the mixture into the pan. When the pancakes are brown around the edges, turn and fry them until the other sides are crispy. Drain on paper towels.

Not to your liking? Want something more unusual than the traditional? Maybe you'd like one of these.

Chappy Chanukkah, my bubbelehs!

I'm visiting Stuart Duncan's site today!

Hey, y'all! I'm over on Stuart Duncan's site today, Autism from a Father's Point of View. Remember that incredible guest post he wrote for us, "Putting away the pride"? Well, it's still the most popular blog post of all time here on LwL. 

Since it's now Stuart that is feeling under the weather, I figured turnabout is fair play, so I wrote a little guest post for him. Click on over and take a look. See you there! frazzledmomma

Not the Momma!

Yay! It's Daddy Sunday! Stay tuned on twitter or facebook to find out when his blog goes live!

Failure is not an option!

As you all know, I am on a quest. A really big, unattainable, Excalibur stuck in a boulder, quest. I want BREAD! I need bread. I love bread. However, the amount of guilt I have when I layer a couple slices of Wonder bread with my hot pastrami and provolone is astronomical. 

Logan cannot have Wonder bread, that in and of itself is a modern day tragedy. He also can't have homemade dinner rolls, bread sticks, garlic bread on spaghetti night, tortillas on burrito night... you get the idea. And so,  I have guilt. I have tried ready made gfcf bread ( I thought I was going to die, it was so significantly nasty, and the stuff was $8 a loaf!!), I have tried buying gfcf bread mixes and baking it at home ( not as nasty, but not something I would eat voluntarily). I have looked online for recipes, which I have been slowly but surely trying out, but with mediocre results, and less than optimal flavor and density.

So, I have made a decision. In December, I am going to launch the Twelve Days of Bread. You know, like the Twelve Days of Christmas, but ... bread. Here's the part where you get to contribute to the Monster House's twelve day torture. The Monster House (they don't know this part yet) will not be eating any bread except that which I review here on the blog. THAT means, I need twelve recipes, mix suggestions, or ready made loaf suggestions to be sampled, reviewed, and tweaked. Remember, the Monster House is gluten, casein, soy, corn, egg and nut free. That ought to make things a little more interesting!


I have been advertising for a recipe tutor on twitter, and now I'm advertising on the blog. I need to have some phenomenal person tutor me in substitutions for corn flour, xanthan gum, and soy. Someone PLEASE email me and be my tutor! I'll give ya a cookie......

SO.. here I go, about to butcher one of the most famous poems in history, and adapt it to... well, bread.


cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" 

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Cries frazzledmomma

With silent blog lips. "Give me your crumbly, your tasteless,

Your gelatinous masses of dough yearning to be light,

The wretched refuse of your teeming recipe box.

Send these, the corn flour, egg filled to me,

I lift my mixer beaters beside my bowl!"

But what does this mean?!? What it means is, I will take all the horrible recipes, and the nasty premade loaves that cost a week's salary, and the mixes that produce the equivalent of kitchen sponges in flavor and texture. I will tweak them. I will use them for meals. I will play around with them for twelve days, and I will find a gfcfsfcfef bread that is delicious! 

What if I fail? Failure?!? FAILURE?????

Bedtime No-How

Allison Frohriep is mom to three, a seven year old with asperger's, a five year old and a three year old with autism.In her "spare time" she blogs.

“Mom! Roman is turning the lights on and off again!”

It was Tycen, my seven year old who shares a room with Roman. Tycen has asperger's and has a need for control. He's constantly, obsessively, telling on his little brother, a three year old with autism. Of course Roman was flipping the light switch. It's what he does. He loves to watch the lights flicker on and off.

“Mom! Roman is chewing on his blocks!”

Again, it's what he does. Roman licks and chews EVERYTHING. He's always being reminded not to put things in his mouth, but seconds later, it's always the same thing. Back in the mouth.

“Mom! Roman is unplugging the radio!”

I had enough. I left my computer, where I was working on my memoir of raising two special needs children alongside their typical sister. Roman had given up on the radio and was jumping on Tycen's bed. It is an every night struggle, getting the boys to bed. Tycen yells and Roman is a naughty little imp, just like any boy his age.

“Boys, you need to calm down and go to sleep. Roman, get to bed,” I commanded.

Roman headed for his PECS book. PECS is the Picture Exchange Communication System. It is a book full of icons of things Roman commonly wants or needs to communicate. The icons are attached by Velcro to the pages of the book. Since Roman is non-verbal, he uses the book regularly to tell us important things, mostly “I want cookies”. We introduced two new icons recently, one meaning yes and the other, no. That was the one Roman was after. He ripped it out of the book and handed it to me.

It was one of those moments where a parent feels like they want to laugh a little, or at least smile, but must keep a stern face. Inside, I was bursting with joy because my son could communicate exactly what he wanted without words. It had only been a few months that Roman had been well practiced at PECS and he was learning quickly. The system has been a lifesaver for us. Before PECS, he would often get frustrated and throw himself into tantrums because we couldn't read his mind. After he mastered PECS, the tantrums dissipated into almost nothing.

“Yes. It's bedtime. Goodnight boys.”

With that, I turned, hit the lights, and left the room, heading back to my work. I was engrossed in the story of how Roman was first diagnosed with autism when I realized that there was finally no noise coming from the boys' room. Still, I felt the need to investigate. I found the light on and heard Roman humming softly from the other side of the door. His hums are another characteristic of autism. The particular hum I heard then meant, “I'm not tired”. I decided not to open the door, but to issue a warning from my side of the portal.

“Roman, go to bed.”

I heard shuffling, then the rip of Velcro. Suddenly, at my feet, a little square of laminated card stock came flying across the floor from under the door. It said, simply, “no”.

Teach me, fearless leaders!

Each year at this time, our family gets together to talk about things we are thankful for. Things like, having a home to live in, being healthy, having family close by, doctors and therapists for Logan, our support system.

Then we talk about others. People that are perhaps not doing as well as we are, in a variety of different ways. By doing this, we raise awareness within our beloved monsters. We teach compassion in a hands on manner. We try to instill in them a sense of gratitude, and the desire to be of service to others. 

In keeping with that thought this week, I began to think of others I could personally help. I cannot volunteer at a food bank, a nursing home, or a hospital because I cannot leave Logan. I cannot hand out wads of cash (as much as I dearly want to) to any number of truly deserving charities. But I CAN research causes and charities I truly believe in, and donate to one that I support.

This year, I find military families in my thoughts with regularity. Specifically, those military families with special needs kids. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to be consistent with therapies, medications, and a thousand other things, when moving from one place to another, and coping without a spouse and parent for extended periods of time. Regular routines which are so imperative to so many special kids are interrupted with each and every move.

There are things in life I feel STRONGLY about. One of them is the treatment of our nation's military. If someone has served our country, I feel this should earn them favors for life.  There should NEVER be a reason for a veteran to be homeless, a military family to rely on food stamps, a special needs child of someone in our armed forces being unable to get appropriate therapy or care through the military health care system. As far as I'm concerned, these are real, true blue, dyed in the wool heroes.  If they are/were in any branch of our armed forces, they are heroes. They deserve everything this country has to offer in the way of support, whether it be monetary, medical, emotional, physical, or what have you.

These families have enough stress in day to day life without worrying about how to find civilian sources for their special needs kids, over and over again, because their military health care won't provide it. These children cope with the stress of deployed mothers and fathers, multiple moves, and new surroundings. Military kids shouldn't be made to endure a disability because their parents cannot afford to pay out of pocket for therapy. 

Last night when I read this blog post I was shocked, to say the least. So, I am asking for your help to find out something REALLY important. I want to find a charity which will benefit military families with special needs kids. I'm not having a whole lot of success on my own. But, if there is anything that is near and dear to my heart, it is watching Logan and seeing how much progress he has made. He has accomplished SO much with therapy, diet restrictions, and proper medical care. His case coordinators have been so on top of things, I have to credit them with a great deal of his success. I want every mother to have these same things. While I am NOT guaranteeing success or amazing results, I cannot begin to tell you how important early intervention, and continuing therapy are. Our military's special kids NEED this.

Please comment or email me directly at benandjerryluvr@yahoo.com if you know of such a charity that is helping our military, their families, and their special kids with these things which we know are so vital.

 

The Monster House gives thanks

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Happy Thanksgiving, from our home to yours.  May your day be full of opportunities to show those you love how thankful you are for their presence in your life.

Thank you for continually making Living with Logan the "family"  we envisioned when we first started. We are very thankful to all our readers,followers, contributors, and sources for making us laugh, cry, learn, and lean on one another. This is truly a haven that we are pleased to be a part of. frazzledmomma

Giving Thanks For A GF/CF Feast

It's the day before Thanksgiving and all through the house, not a creature is stirring, not even a … hold on! Wrong holiday poem!

It's the day before Thanksgiving and all through the house, ALL HANDS are stirring including the spouse. There's stuffing, and cornbread, and mashed potato in a bowl, and sweet potatoes and candied carrots and gluten-free dinner rolls. On dash of paprika, on pinch of parsley. Some pepper some salt and a bit of rosemary.

Thanksgiving is one of THE EASIEST holidays to make GF/CF/SF. Nearly all the things that make Thanksgiving smell like Thanksgiving are naturally diet-friendly.

In case you're still scrambling today, I'm putting forth the LwL Thanksgiving menu. For those few items that require tweaking, I'm including links to some amazing GF/CF/SF recipes.

• Turkey - Although virtually all turkey recipes are GF/CF/SF, I'm still linking here to the recipe Bubbe uses. Why? Because the instructions include "and don't ever open the oven until it's done!" No basting at all. Also, it's much faster than most recipes, which means less stress for you. Alton Brown, Good Eats Turkey. (By the way, if you have time, you can watch Alton at work here.)
• Stuffing - Gluten-Free Girl offers a GF/CF/SF recipe that calls for one egg.
• Corn - Recipe: Open can, heat, serve.
• Mashed Potatoes - either use Earth Balance for your butter, or just add a bit of olive oil, instead.
• Candied Yams - Pennies on a Platter is not GF/CF, but I liked her unusual presentation, so just trade out the butter for Earth Balance and you're good as gold. (That is, if you don't already have a lifelong tradition of mashed sweet potatoes with E.B. "butter", GF/CF/SF marshmallows, and cinnamon. Yum!)
• Candied Carrots - though not a GF/CF blog, Hillbilly Housewife offers a simple recipe that fits the needs. And I just LOVE the name!
• Cornbread Muffins - Bird is the Word offers up a delicious recipe!
• Bread/bread rolls - Pig in the Kitchen offers a simple bread roll recipe that's also egg-free! (Not a baker; afraid of breads? Okay, we don't usually promote store brands, but needs must. Bubbe's never tried Udi's bread, but everyone raves about it. Print out your $1 off coupon at Udi's site, check the stores that carry it (on their site), and dash out for a loaf of bread. Wrap it in a slightly damp tea towel and heat in the oven for a few minutes right before dinner and it'll be "fresh out of the oven" gorgeous!)
• Cranberry sauce. - A tip: buy a couple cans of the gelled kind, plop them into a pan and warm them back up to liquid, then put them into your favorite jello mold and re-gel. You can even mix in some sauted apple chunks for variety.
• Pumpkin pie - Gluten-Free Goddess comes up with an incredibly allergy-friendly delicious pie recipe!
• Pecan pie - Our very own frazzledmomma sets you up here! Check the recipes page for a pie crust if you feel like you want one. Or, crush pecans or almonds and lay it down on the bottom of your pie tin for a base.
• Chocolate -n- stuff balls - Bubbe's own "unrecipe", it'll take you longer to find it than for me to write it here, so here you go: Melt chocolate chips (like Enjoy Life) in microwave, small batches at a time. Toss in GF corn flakes or rice crispies or broken pretzels or whatever. Stir to coat. Pour onto baking paper or wax paper. Stick in fridge. When solid, break into bite-sized pieces.

Bubbe would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for your love and loyalty for LwL, frazzledmomma, and me. Wishing you a delicious feast, laughter, family time, and many new things to be thankful for!

A Little Sister, Older Than Me

Our guest blogger today presents a different view on living with special needs. Having a family member with mental challenges fifty years ago was a very different experience than today. Karen of "Special Needs Abu Dhabi" writes a beautiful piece that shows the love she has for and has received from her sister who was born with mental retardation in 1941.

This is an edited excerpt. The full story can be read here.

My sister, Gretta was 18 years old when I was born in 1959. She was number 3 out of 5 children, when I became number 6. Gretta is the first person I ever knew with special needs.

Gretta was born with what was then called mental retardation. To just look at her -- at 20, 30, 40 years of age -- you wouldn't know this about her. I thought she was beautiful. She had flawless skin, a beautiful smile, lovely dark brown hair with hints of auburn, a sweet personality, and the most infectious laugh of anyone I've ever known. Intellectually, Gretta never grew beyond the age of 4 or 5 years old. She attended a special education class at elementary school for a brief period but had to withdraw because she had seizures, which the teacher was not able to handle. Gretta did learn to print the alphabet, her name, and other simple words, as well as simple reading. Her speech was very easy to understand compared to some of her friends.

Gretta suffered from hard seizures, which were preceded by her head drawing down and to the left and her left arm and leg drawing inward. My mom believed that Gretta's mood brought on the seizures (which I've since learned was not possible*), because she would sometimes be mean or cry a lot prior to a seizure. I remember trying so hard to cheer her up -- thinking that maybe I could keep it from happening. Watching her seizures was very frightening. My mom and I, as well as my older sister, and family and friends -- whoever happened to be there at the time -- would try our best to help her through them. We would rub her back, legs and arms, talk softly and reassuringly to her, and try to make sure she didn't hurt herself.

Years after I had grown up and my father had passed away, my mother decided to move Gretta from the residential school she'd been in to a group home nearer to where she lived. Her seizures were under better control with medication and she seemed ready to participate in a more independent environment. The residents helped to cook and care for the house and five days a week they were taken in a bus to various locations for work. (As I recall, Gretta's work involved putting gaskets together and boxing them.) At work, Gretta met Donald. Donald was also mentally retarded but lived at home with his mother. Donald dressed in cowboy shirts and double-knit slacks and spoke with a very slow southern drawl. He was a true southern gentleman and treated Gretta like she was a queen. He would often visit her at the group home, where they would watch TV together and hold hands.

Then, one day Gretta fell down the stairs and ended up in the hospital. She never fully recovered from the fall, and was never able to walk again. It was believed that the fall was caused by a seizure. Gretta moved back home where Mom took over her care with some help from a nurse who would come by a few hours a week. But our mother was getting older and it became too difficult, physically, for her to care for Gretta, so she ultimately moved to a nursing home where she would be treated with respect and loving care.

Gretta has a big fan club of nurse's aids at the nursing home where she now lives. She has a reputation for being very sweet and having the nicest manners. She has very strong arms and will help the aids by holding onto the rails on her bed when they come to change her bedding under her. These strong arms also give wonderful hugs. Just the other day, she told one of the aids, "You make me so happy!"

*A note from Bubbe: The reverse was probably true; the start of the seizure was likely causing this "bad mood".

What a fabulous audience!

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My Pecan Pie experiment!

As you know, before I had drama and trauma last week, I swore I was going to have a gfcfsfcfef pecan pie experiment. WELL. Today was the day! I have pictures, I have recipes, I have all kinds of fun stuff going on over here. It's just such a shame that I can't have a scratch n' sniff blog today. The house smells AMAZING! There are just a couple notes I must add before showing you all the yummy pie process.

* When texting the Daddy and asking him to purchase aluminum pie tins, please make sure you tell him what SIZE. He came home with 10" deep dish. Most pie recipes are for a standard 9" pie, unless it states otherwise. ( i.e. 9" deep dish, 10", 10" deep dish) Therefore, my pie turned out a bit on the skimpy side, through no fault of the recipe. 

*I did not use the Buttery Almond Pie Crust recipe  today. I was on a strict time frame, because the twinnies were napping, and notorious #5 was helping. So, my experimental pie does not have a gf crust, because I used a pre-made, refrigerated one from the store. The buttery almond crust though... TO DIE FOR!!!

Okay! I think that's it. Are you ready? I am SO excited! Here we go:

I adapted the Southern Pecan Pie recipe from About.com

Here is the adapted recipe for you to try

Ingredients:
1 cup rice syrup
1 cup brown sugar, lightly packed
1/4 t. sea salt
1/3 cup melted soy free Earth Balance spread
1 t. vanilla
egg substitute to equal 3 eggs
2 heaping cups pecan halves
1- 9" pie shell, unbaked

Your pile of ingredients will look like this:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees, then mix together the rice syrup, brown sugar, salt, melted butter, and vanilla. Then mix together your egg substitute, and add to the rice syrup mixture. it will look like this:

Then stir in your heaping 2 cups of pecan halves

Then pour the entire mixture into the prepared crust and decorate the top with a design of pecans, if you like.

Then slide the pie into a 350 degree oven for 45 minutes -1 hour, until set.

Allow to cool completely before slicing. Y'all enjoy! ( Holy cow, I just can't WAIT to eat this!! This is my favorite pie, a tie with pumpkin.)

Notorious #5 says it's a hit!!

Taking my child to the ER

Being a mom means not only are there good times, but there are times when you'll be scared. Scared by little things ("Did he remember to look both ways when he crossed the street?" "What if she doesn't make friends in kindergarten?") as well as the big things. Today's guest blogger, Jill from Yeah. Good times., shares with us one of those scary moments. Thank you, Jill, for sharing it with us and reminding us that fear, too, is a natural part of parenting and strangely enough, is part of the "good times".

My second born (whom I call Child 2 or C2) was diagnosed at age 2 with Recurrent Croup, which basically just means that he gets croup a lot. Croup happens when the top of the windpipe gets inflamed and he will get a cough that sounds like a dog barking and when he breathes it makes kind of a whistling sound. Croup is very common, but Recurrent Croup is less so, and every time in his life that he has gotten sick, he has gotten croup. The older he gets the less serious (and scary) it has gotten, but one night, when he was around 3 ½, he went to bed with a cold and woke up in the middle of the night crying. His breathing was labored and loud and he couldn’t do anything except cough weakly and then cry. It was really scary.
Since we have an older child, only one of us could take him to the ER, so hubs stayed home while I quickly threw in my contact lenses and ran with C2 to the car. I was panicking as I strapped him into the car seat, but I tried really hard to stay calm enough to make the trip to the hospital. Once in the car I had to decide to go to the Children’s Hospital, where the pediatrician always tells us to go to in an emergency, or to the regular hospital. I chose the regular hospital because it was about 10 minutes from our house while the Children’s Hospital is about 20.

That was a crazy drive, that 10 minutes to the hospital. It was late, maybe midnight, so the streets were empty, and I drove like HELL to get there, impatiently waiting for traffic lights, sometimes not even bothering to, I didn’t care if I got pulled over; if a cop wanted to stop me, he was damn well going to have to arrest me inside the hospital because there was no way I was stopping for any reason. I kept making C2 talk to me every 15 seconds or so, so that I knew he was still alive and awake. I liked it when he was crying or coughing because I knew it meant he was still breathing; when he stopped is when it was bad, so I kept talking to him and making him answer me.
We got to the hospital and I think I just pulled into the driveway and stopped the car, grabbing him out of the back seat and running through the doors. I’d been to this ER with friends a few times before and every time there it was a horribly long wait and a jam packed waiting room. I was prepared to start screaming at the top of my lungs if they so much as asked me to have a seat; I had a kid who couldn’t breathe, there’s no way you’re making me wait. But the staff just took one look at me; panicked mom wearing pajamas with motionless child over my shoulder, and they knew they had to act fast. We were rushed into a room immediately where they stripped him down and hooked him up to various tubes and machines. He was pale. They gave him oxygen and albuterol and rushed around us setting up machines. I’m not sure if I spoke, at least not for the first 10 minutes or so. I just remember having that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and thinking “this isn’t real; I’m not really here right now.”
After a little while he started getting his color back and then, suddenly, he was chatting with me and asking questions. It was obvious that he was okay again and everything was going to be fine. I remember being flooded with that feeling of wanting to both laugh and cry hysterically at the same time. I think I laughed. I’m really not sure. I looked at my phone and saw that my husband had been texting me, he had no idea what was going on. I answered that we were okay, things were going to be okay. I’m sure he had the same feeling. I’m not sure which is worse: being the one in the middle of the panic or being the one at home waiting to hear if your child is okay.

But, he was okay and he was going to be okay. We stayed in the hospital for another few hours just to make sure, but he was going to be okay. I think I had that hysterical laughing/crying feeling the whole rest of the time we were there. I actually have it right now, writing this. But he was okay.

After a while he got bored and started making me take pictures of him. I have pictures of the albuterol tube, the O2 monitor that was on his finger, the sheets, his hospital ID bracelet, his feet, all the monitors he was hooked up to and, of course, his nose, which I will share with you.

The Love of Lullabies - Part 2

Lea recently shared with us her discovery of how her own voice affects her child's behavior. She's back with LwL, helping us learn a tried-and-true technique for successfully helping your kids fall peacefully sleep. Thank you, Lea, for sharing your song with us! * * * * * "The Quiet Song" By Lea Keating SPD mom, advocate, blogger at La La Language and founder of Sensory Street Kids. So I promised in my last guest blog to introduce you to The Quiet Song. And as I used it again last night to lull my especially-hyper-tonight Little Man to sleep, I was reminded why I want to share this with every parent I meet. Every time I use this technique I am in awe of the power of progressive relaxation. So here goes. Let's quickly review the 3 S's of successful lullabies: Sing Slowly, Sing Softly, and Sing Simply. Sing Slowly: Slowly. I mean slllllooooooowwwwwwly. Draw out your syllables and take breaths between every couple of words. Sing Softly: Sing quietly, and also sing in a deeper voice - by the end of the tune you could be singing in a breathess whisper. Your tone sets the mood! Sing Simply: Keep the words simple. I'll add one more "S" for this entry : Setting Setting: This is usually a bedtime song for us, so LM is in his bed. We've hung a string of white christmas lights in his room - the lighting is soft and soothing, and we have a heavy quilt that is folded and gives him deep pressure. The Quiet Song (A progressive relaxation lullabye) Loosely based on the tune of Ten Little Indians Sung slllooooooooowly .... Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Head, Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Head, Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Head, Take a Deep Deep Breath Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Eyes, Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Eyes, Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Eyes, Take a Deep Deep Breath Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Mouth, Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Mouth, Quiet, Quiet, Quiet Mouth, Take a Deep Deep Breath Continue ... Quiet Shoulders, Quiet Arms, Quiet Hands, Quiet Back, Quiet Belly, Quiet Legs, Quiet Knees, Quiet Feet, Quiet ____ (child's name) Directions: Relax. Most importantly, you the parent, relax. This is a long song - purposely! Remember your three S's. If your child tolerates being touched gently place the weight of your hand on the body part being mentioned. Start with your hand on the crown of the head, move to the forehead/eyebrows, the jawbone, give a gentle squeeze to the shoulder, hold his hand, rest your hand on his belly, etc. When you sing "take a deep deep breath" you pause and take a deep breath too. You are encouraging deep breaths by slowing your own breathing rate down. You may have a fidgety child for several verses - dont get frustrated, keep an even tone and keep singing. You can repeat a verse or go through the whole song again. Remember that this is essentially a training exercise. You are teaching your child to be aware of each part of their body and giving them control of their breathing and relaxation. Don't get discouraged if the first night is a bust - at the very least you've done some calming breathing yourself. I strongly strongly urge you to try this and keep at it. It's an incredible gift you can give your child ... the gift of relaxation and peace. Quietly Yours, Lea Lea Keating, Founder, Sensory Street Kids www.sensorystreetkids.com http://lalalanguage.blogspot.com/ http://www.startupnation.com/leading-moms-in-business/contestant/8852/index.php http://www.longislandpress.com/2010/06/16/fortune-52-lea-keating/ Sing and Play the Sensory Way!

Musings from the Momma

I wasn't going to write about this. However, after a long talk with a fellow mommy blogger (you've seen her here as a guest, doing reviews! Check her out on her blog, Special Happens and show her some love!!), and examining my own feelings of the happenings here the last couple of days during that long talk, I felt the need to share, just a little. And after I do this, I am going to crawl back into my corner until Monday, because I know that I will be feeling a LOT of very strong emotions, and I will need time to collect my thoughts. Bubbe, you're not quite off the hook yet.

Everyone, meet #6. This is Logan's twin, Colton. No, they aren't identical, are they?!? But they ARE both dang cute! I'm allowed to say things like that, because I'm the Momma. There is a reason I'm introducing you. I want you to look at Colton's little face, see the wonder he sees, as he looks in the distance. I love that look. I love the expression of delight and innocence. I love the purity of this picture... unmarked by anything sad or scary or unpleasant.

This past Wednesday evening was sad, scary, and unpleasant... and I would do anything to be able to take that away from Colton's memory.  But I can't. And I have guilt and horrible feelings of failing as a Momma because of it.

Logan gets 1/2 of a 0.1mg tablet of Clonidine per night to help him sleep. We had just given Logan his half tablet during our bedtime routine, and the bottle spilled. There were pills all over the floor, and while we were hurrying to pick them up, Colton grabbed 4-1/2 pills and ate them. I called Poison Control in a panic, really thinking that all they were going to tell me was, Colton would be a really REALLY tired bunny, but it would be all okay. That's not what they told me.

Clonidine is a sedative. Because of the amount Colton ingested, Poison Control told me his heart could stop and he needed to go to a hospital. RIGHT NOW! When they discovered how far away we are from the nearest hospital, they told me to call an ambulance, because he needed to have medical care right away.

I hung up with them, called the pediatrician ( again, I LOVE the service for the pediatrician that patched me right through to the doctor's cell) and asked which hospital he wanted Colton to be seen in. Then I made the 911 call that no mother should ever have to make.  Paramedics were here at the speed of light, sirens screaming and lights flashing on the ambulance in my driveway, and they rushed to my door to get the facts.

They bundled Colton up wearing only a diaper, in a blanket to protect him from the freezing temperature and took him to the back of the ambulance to get him strapped on the gurney. We decided that I would follow the ambulance in my car, so I would be able to have transportation home when/if Colton was released. At this point I was in such shock, nothing was really seeming real, and I remember nodding a lot and agreeing with everything. The Daddy was in Vegas on business, and my mother had come to the house just a couple of minutes before the ambulance, to tend the monsters while I was with Colton.

I don't really remember the 45 mile drive to the hospital. I just remember thinking, "Oh, wow. If I get stopped, this is going to be a HECK of a ticket." I was doing 85 in a 65 zone most of the way, sometimes it was a 55 zone. I gave the ambulance a 1/4 mile lead, and stayed that distance the whole way. If I HAD been stopped, it would have been clear to the deputy that I was following the ambulance. And it would have been clear that I was a hair's breadth away from hysterical.

The first thing I remember seeing when I got into the ER with Colton, was the blood all over his blanket, from the paramedics when they were attempting to start his IV.  It was everything I could do not to pass out. I just kept staring at the blood and telling Colton I was here, it was going to be okay. I was there alone, with this child who could very likely die, and I was really trying to keep it together and absorb what the doctor and nurses were saying. The doctor took me aside and explained that the next four hours were crucial because that's the window of time in which that particular drug will cause heart damage, or stop the heart completely. Clonidine is a sedative. It makes everything relax. We were praying that his heart wouldn't relax. My two year old child who never had a reason to be in a hospital other than birth, was now hooked up to an IV and every monitor they could think of.

It took over an hour for Colton to fall asleep after entering the ER, something that amazed everyone caring for him. They kept telling me that it was a good sign that he was still awake. And then... he fell asleep. He was REALLY asleep. The doctor thumbed back Colton's eyelids, and he didn't even twitch. The plan was, they would let him sleep for a couple hours, and then try to wake him up and make him mad, to see how long he would remain awake. I held him in my arms until my arms went numb and I had to lay him down, or I would have dropped him. I don't think there was a minute when I wasn't praying for Colton to live. I found myself needing to touch him, needing to feel him, to smell the baby wash we use on his hair, to feel the smoothness of his baby skin, trying to remember everything about him... just in case.

Every once in a while he would whimper or sigh, or wiggle around. These were all good signs, meaning he wasn't slipping into a coma. His vitals remained strong. He never even needed oxygen. The time came to wake him, and they did indeed make Colton mad. He woke up with this expression, this "What the $^%# do you people think you're doing!?!" expression, that made everyone laugh and sigh with relief.

Eight hours after entering the ER, Colton got to go home. The doctor couldn't understand it. He told me once, " That child should be dead." Gee, thanks, doc! But really, he ingested enough sedative for a 150 pound adult. Colton weighs 30 pounds. I can't stop thinking about the irony of it all... all the times I have been in a hospital with Logan, never thinking that I would be in a situation like this with Colton. Never thinking that I would fear for the life of THIS twin.

And then... the guilt. The feeling that I wasn't watching closely enough, that I should have moved faster, that deadly woulda, coulda, shoulda. The feeling that I failed Colton as his mother, the person he depends on for everything in life, the life he nearly lost. And I can't shake it. I can't stop loving on him, and apologizing to him, and snuggling him after he's asleep. Berating myself because I didn't see it coming.

And so, now you know the reason for my little hiatus. I can't go back to being the Momma I was before Wednesday night. I can't stop feeling guilty and negligent. And I can't face reality, quite yet. Logically I know it was just a freak accident, something that has happened to countless parents before me, and will happen to countless parents after me. I am anal about where we keep medications for this very reason. And yet, it happened to ME, and now all the rules have changed.

If the roles were reversed, and I was reading this instead of writing it, I would be full of all the things everyone has said to me~ "It's not your fault", "you didn't do it on purpose", "it was an accident", "you can't blame yourself". But I'm sorry.... it just doesn't work that way. My little precious #6 could have died. And I will never, NEVER forget that. Never, for as long as I live. And I will live in fear of Child Services coming to my door to question me, or take my children, because I failed. I can't get away from that.  

I was talking to my Pappy about this whole thing last night, and I told him that the only explanation there is for the way things turned out for Colton is, divine intervention. No matter how you slice it, there's no earthly reason Colton should be alive today. But he is.

There are those who will judge me. And that's okay. There's nothing they can say to me that I'm not already saying to myself. But I caution you.... never, EVER say, " That would never happen to me."

Welcome Gina, from Special Happens!

We're very excited to have an amazing writer (and amazing mother, blogger, artist, and more) reviewing Dr. Roya Ostovar's, The Ultimate Guide to Sensory Processing Disorder over on the REVIEW page.

Today's featured blogger/reviewer is Gina St. Aubin.

is a wife and mother of three, one diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy,

PDD-NOS/Autism, Landau-Kleffner Syndrome (a rare epileptic disorder causing verbal aphasia), Sensory Processing Disorder and Developmental Delays. A former Victims' Advocate turned advocate for those with intellectual and physical challenges, Gina believes being a 'Special Parent' means to discover, embrace, educate, advocate, encourage, treasure and laugh.

Read more on her blog, Special Happens

or her Special Needs Parents articles on the Examiner.com.

Thank you, Gina!

Stressed up for the holidays

Apparently, frazzledmomma felt inspired to co-write! After 40 hours of awaketude. The pink bits are her commentary. - Bubbe

Definition of STRESS \'stres\

- A physical, chemical, or emotional factor that causes bodily or mental tension and may be a factor in disease causation

- A force exerted when one body or body part presses on, pulls on, pushes against, or tends to compress or twist another body or body part

- The deformation caused in a body by such a force

Bubbe's been thinking about stress lately. I mean, stress is always there. There's no avoiding it. And it's not always bad, either. There is a term coined by Hans Selye, "eustress", which means good stress. Examples of eustress are getting a new job, getting married, having a child. It's all good… but it's still stressful!

And with the holidays upon us, there's a fresh batch of stress that includes doing all the multitudinous things that we do on ordinary days, PLUS buying presents, cooking huge dinners for 28 of our closest friends (and 20 pies so there is enough for dessert and a pie for each family to schlepp home, like the Monster House tradition), and even converting old favorite traditional foods to GF/CF/SF alternatives your child can dig into and build memories upon.

Planning how to deal with your stress proactively can be a tremendous tool for keeping your stress down to manageable levels (because a frazzledmomma is not a happy momma). You plan for parties, you plan your Thanksgiving menu, you plan your day's chores. Plan how you're going to keep your stress levels manageable.

Know your limitations. Part of planning how you're going to manage your stress is knowing how much is too much. Is adding one thing to your already full day going to push you over the top? Two things? What if it's two things but one's something you enjoy, like shopping for presents?

Line up your support staff. No one should be without a team supporting them. Figure out who supports you, and let them know that you may need a little more support -- emotional or physical -- than usual over this extra busy time. Maybe that means that you're friend should text you funny jokes or pictures daily to give you a mini-break every day. Or maybe it means that you need to arrange sleepovers for your kids. Or sleepovers for yourself (get someone you trust to spend the night at your house so you can do an all night Walmart raid and then crash at your best friend's house for an uninterrupted six hours, which is six more uninterrupted hours than you've had in the past year and a half). Or maybe it's saying to your spouse, for this month, I'll need you to do the [morning drop-off/laundry/dishes/homework help/time-out monitoring].

NB!! If you don't have people to support you, to free you up a bit, ask everyone you know (especially the strangers you've met online like frazzledmomma does) what resources are available to you. Arrange for respite care, home nurses, or paid companions so that you're not juggling everything on your own.

Schedule in time for yourself. Once a week, every week, at a minimum, you should hang up your parent hat and go be an adult. This can mean spending an hour at the library flipping through a glamour magazine or reading a book of short stories (in case you fall asleep five minutes into the book; with short stories, you have a fighting chance of reading an entire story). Or having a standing coffee with a friend, kid-free. Or going into your bathroom and LOCKING THE DOOR and taking a long bath, or a shower until there's no more hot water in the tank. Or taking the dog for a two-hour walk and using the time to call a friend and chat uninterrupted. Or watching your favorite TV show while your spouse takes care of the kids. Doesn't matter what you do, just as long as you create "ME" time.

Learn that "no" is not a four-letter word. Mom? Can we have pumpkin AND cranberry pie? No. Mom? Can we go to just one more store, even though the baby's exhausted and cranky? No. Honey, let's throw a New Year's party. We haven't had one since before Junior was diagnosed. No. (Do not tell your sweetie to throw HIMSELF out the window, like frazzledmomma would.) Mom, I'm hungry. Will you make me lunch? Yes. Mom! I forgot I was supposed to wear a white skirt for my performance that starts in an hour, and I don't have one! We have to go shopping! No.

Don't forget to breathe. Seems obvious. But are you doing it? Full, lung-filling breaths. That's right, just…like…that. Good girl. Don't forget again, Bubbeleh, because it's just so important.

And when all the planning doesn't work and stress gets the better of you…walk away. Not forever! Don't be silly. Like Bubbe would encourage you to abandon all you hold near and dear. But if you're feeling like you are about to scream, hit, throw things, (beat things with your computer mouse) or otherwise melt down, walk away. Walk into your bathroom and lock the door. Walk into your closet and sit in the corner. Walk outside and take some deep breaths of fresh air. Take a few moments to regroup, to let some mental energy seep into your well of reserves so that you can go back into the fray with some resources to deal with the chaos.

And one last piece of advice. When you're busy shopping or making presents or even creating coupons for holiday presents, don't forget to put your own name on the list of people who deserve something special. And follow through on it -- tell yourself how special you are with a gift you'll remember for years to come. (Do not guilt yourself into thinking you don't deserve it, like frazzledmomma does. Because every parent, especially the frazzled ones, deserve it! -B.)

Relax, bubbelehs! Enjoy this holiday season! And save Bubbe a bit of the dark meat, tov?

Calling all bloggers!!

Bubbe needs bloggers! Subject is open, we need blogs tomorrow and Saturday. Anyone interested email Bubbe at asklogansbubbe@gmail.com. Please be a part of Frazzledmomma's support system during this difficult time at the Monster House.

...and Monster Care

So you shouldn't be worrying, Bubbe's got the latest update on #6. Thank God, he's well on his way back to good health and will be up to his twinnie mischief very soon! Frazzledmomma thanks you all for worrying and caring about him.

Frazzledmomma wants me to tell you that she's going to take a few days away from the blog to serve up some extra helpings of good lovin' on her babies to take the sting out of the scare.

Fear not. Bubbe's got some thoughts to share. And if anyone else has something they want to guest blog on, let us know. Did you have a wonderful experience with a shop or product you want to share with other parents? Did you have an epiphany about raising your child with special needs. Or learn something that every parent should know about ... well, nearly anything. Send us e-mail and we'll share your knowledge with our readers so that we can all get the most out of life!

Be well, Bubbelehs.

Monster Scare!

Bubbelehs,

Frazzledmomma has asked me to let you know that #6 is in the midst of a medical emergency and she will be focusing on him for the next however long he needs. So I'll be covering here until #6 is back to his normal healthy self. Meantime, whatever is your shtick -- prayer, crossing fingers, what have you, please do some of it for #6.

Thanks,

Bubbe

But WHY do you call them "monsters"?!?!

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Jim Henson is one of my heroes. I know I tell you about my heroes all the time, but I have a LOT of them, OK?!

He taught the world that monsters are not necessarily bad things. They can be cuddly, and funny, and teach you things. They each have their own unique personalities, the things which make them well, THEM. 


Think about it. Miss Piggy. Self centered, loud, demanding, and in your face. And she loves her Kermee. A LOT. 

Kermit, well, he's a frog. A singing, cute, emcee of a frog. And he'd better love Miss Piggy back or he's squished.


The old men in the theater. Seriously. Who DOESN'T know an old man or two like that?


My monsters are the same. They each have their own personalities, they love fiercely, they irritate people upon occasion, they have been known to break into song, some of them have Gonzo moments... but they are ALL snuggly and unique and MINE. And sometimes they are monsters than only a mother could love. And she does. For better or worse, for ever and ever. ( Even though notorious #5 could be Animal's stunt double).


And THAT, my oh so curious readers, is why I have monsters.  NOW do you think I'm a horrible mother for calling them monsters? I've gotten so much flack about that.....


OH! OH! Brilliant idea! I need to have a Jim Henson monster maker representative come and observe the monsters and make me the furry Henson versions of monsters 1-7!! Oh, yeah. I need that for Christmas. And a life size fuzzy Daddy monster.... I could do this all day. At the VERY least, I need an  illustrated monster portrait . Hmmmmmmmm. Horrible shame that I can't draw or sew to save my life. Dang it.

How #5 became notorious

#5. Oh, my goodness. My notorious #5. The child that is known because I have more stories about him, in his short little five years of monsterhood, than ANY of the other monsters.... combined. There are, in fact, so many stories to choose from that I honestly don't know where to start.

He  really is SO cute in pictures, and when he's sleeping. And when he gets whatever he wants... immediately.  And when his toast has the crust cut off and is evenly sliced into EIGHT rectangles. On a small blue plate. NOT THE WHITE ONE,MOM! THE BLUE ONE! 

He's my child, and I love him to bits and Lil pieces, but I have never had a child quite like him. He is my high maintenance, high energy child. He loves fiercely, fights fiercely, and screams shrill. And he's mine. ALL MINE!! But I digress.


I could start by telling about the time I had purchased four cases of fresh strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries. I had washed the blue and black berries and set them out on towels spread over the kitchen counter so they could dry completely before I froze them in single layers for later use. Well, I had done this while my notorious #5 was in kindergarten and the twinnie monsterlettes were napping. But after I picked #5 up from school, I had a very important phone call, scheduling Logan's EEG at the hospital in town following his seizure this last September. At this time, I must refer to facebook for exact wording. You know you love it.... 

frazzledmomma:

So.. I'm sitting at the desk on the phone trying to set up Logan's EEG. I hear maniacal 5yr old laughter, followed by #5 running up to me shrieking " MOM! I SO love you!!" & then he ran away. Still conversing with the hospital I go to the kitchen. "You're the BEST! You bought me BERRY BOMBS!" says #5 as he launches blueberries at the beige wall. SPLAT!!!! There were 10 other bomb sites. Shoot me now.

frazzledmomma:

He was standing on the counter throwing them as hard as he could at the wall on the other end of the breakfast nook.

Needless to say, my mouth dropped open and I hung up on the registration office at the hospital. The child seriously thought I had purchased all those berries for his launching pleasure. And did you know.. .fresh blueberries WILL stain through paint. Permanently.

 

Or, I could tell you about the time the child had a REALLY not very wonderful day, and consequently that afternoon, I had just HAD IT!!

frazzledmomma

thinks my eyeballs will explode if #5 screams one more time. This after he peed on the nursery TV and killed it, told his kindergarten teacher she is an idiot, and explained male anatomy to the girls in his class. CALGON, TAKE ME AWAY!!

 

I don't tell you all this to convince you that my child is horrible, or terrible, or mean, or awful. He isn't. He just has some REALLY interesting days. Which in turn makes MY days really interesting. In fact, some days they are SO interesting, I even make up brand new words to fit the occasion! I'm not a perfect mother, #5 is not a perfect child. But he IS notorious, and he's MINE, ALL MINE! ( I think I mentioned that before...)

These are the things that I think of when other mothers tell me they have had a rough day with their 5 year olds... because this IS normal, right?? RIGHT?!?!?!