Pack It Up and Move It Out!

The time has come for the Monster House to re-evaluate our location. It has become abundantly clear in recent months that we are not in the most beneficial area for our children's education, recreation, and a great many other things. Don't get me wrong. I love this little town, and I love that the monsters have had so much opportunity to enjoy childhood. But my #2 needs more from his school, and the twinnie monsterlettes need more, as well. The house we are in currently is taking more and more money to maintain, because our land lord does not/ will not maintain it. Aside from all that, living an hour away from a super mega Wally World, movie theaters, bowling alleys, playlands, hospitals, pediatricians, allergists, restaurants, etc. has driven this Momma completely bonkers.

Here's a little known secret. I never leave home.  Okay, never is a strong word. I rarely leave home. At most, I get out of the house on a quarterly basis. Picking up the mail and taking children to piano lessons a couple of blocks away does not count. I never ( in this case, "never" is true) go grocery shopping, or go out to dinner with The Daddy. I don't have girls' nights. I get my hair cut once a year if I'm lucky. In short, I have a case of cabin fever that has been building for the last 4 years. The time has come.

And so, the hunt begins. For schools that would be best for the monsters. For a house within our price range that will fit all of us, within the boundaries of the schools we select. For location convenient for #1 who will be going to college (on a SCHOLARSHIP! To study to be a secondary English teacher. Sooooo proud!), as well as for the monsters in elementary, middle, and high school. This is starting to feel like the quest for the Holy Grail. Do we buy or do we rent? And, WHEN did we get so poor?!?!

Oh, and also? The Momma is going back to school, as well.  Lots of changes in the air. Lots of things to worry over. And last night, a few things to cry over. I do not like change. I don't deal with it well, and I've lived in this tiny town for just shy of 16 years. These are some pretty deep roots.  I'm a tad scared. The monsters? They are all, "Let's leave tomorrow! Just bomb the house, and let's GO!"

So here's what I need from y'all, because I am SURE there is someone out there who has done this. How do you "plan" a move like this? I need to make lists! I need to do research online! I need to have plans! I need to drive everyone in the house crazy by going through things to keep, things to throw out, and things to donate!

We have a date for moving. We promised #1 we wouldn't move before she graduates, because that's the kind, merciful thing to do. So.. we would like to help our neighbors celebrate June 1st by parking a giant U-Haul truck in our driveway and running back and forth to said truck like a line of crazed ants with boxes and assorted crappy furniture. Hey, it's entertainment. Maybe I should sell tickets and make popcorn for their viewing pleasure. I'm sure they will throw candy and scream "See Ya!" as we drive away.

How have y'all gotten through it? Planning a big move? How long did it take to recover?

U-Haul truck image from uhaul.com. Fantasy Island image from the Google images. Just searc "Waving goodbye"!

Sacred Family Saturday

And THAT, y'all, was MY Saturday!

By ihave7monsters | View this Toon at ToonDoo | Create your own Toon

Dusting Off GrandPappy

Logan's GrandPappy & Grandma
(My Mom and Dad)

Early on in my blogging "career", my father decided to blog, too. Only his blog would be political. Well, I once mentioned to him that I would love to have him write for me from the perspective of a grandparent of a special needs child. So he did.. and he did it on his blog. I'd love for y'all to see it. It still brings me to tears, even though it's a dusty old post, written in December of 2010. Hop on over, y'all, and show my Pappy some of that bloggy love in the comment section that y'all are so generous with! This is one dusty old post that should be kept shiny. Like the top of Pappy's head. Enjoy! Just click on the title below to get straight to it.

I Am Logan's Grandpappy


Dear scary censorship type people: Yes, I did steal this from
my Pappy's facebook. But I don't think that's really stealing,
because *I* took the picture in the first place! So there.

Thank You, Jim Brickman!

How do I love thee, Jim Brickman? Let me count the ways. Wait! Stop! Don't run away screaming, Jim Brickman! I am not a stalker. Call off the body guards! I'm just a very tired Momma, with a special needs monsterlette who is trying very hard to have yet another non-sleep cycle. And your music made the twinnies relax enough to sleep. Honest! I'm listening to their poor little stuffed up snoring right this minute!

Therefore, it is written (somewhere, I'm sure, it IS written) that I must adore you for your soothing musical talent, shout about our success with your beautiful rendition of  Mulan's "Reflection" from the rooftops, and blog.. that other very tired special needs Mommas might try the same thing that worked for us. See? So not scary. If *I* were Jim Brickman, I'd be all kinds of flattered.

There are a few things in the Monster House that are sacred. One of them is our Dish subscription, which is almost more important to me than the utility bill, because of the Sirius radio. I know I've mentioned this to y'all previously. I truly think I use it for radio more than I do for Joan Knows Best, and Hoarders. The monsterlettes are very VERY inspired by music. We use it to play, to learn, to clean up, to calm down, to dance.. we use it for any possible reason we can think of.  The Daddy used to think I was making it all up. And then I had to teach him a lesson and make him sit on the couch for hours while we used music for various activities. He doesn't think I'm making it up any more.

Is it any wonder that #6 stood up in his theatre seat during Happy Feet 2, while "We Are The Champions" was being performed by sailors and wildlife, and shrieked "Wock On!"??  Music is serious business at the Monster House. I am doing my darndest to make sure all the monsters have exposure to all kinds of music! Yes, even Elvis and bluegrass and jazz and classical, and 80s big hair bands, all of which can be heard regularly here. Lady Gaga? Over my dead body, even though #3 has a raging crush on all that weirdness...

So, thank you, Jim Brickman. Thank you for performing and composing music that I will never have an issue with my children hearing. Thank you for being a soothing influence late, LATE at night when I am at my most frazzled with two hysterical three year olds. But very most importantly, thank you for having your albums on the Sirius radio. "Sirius-ly", Jim Brickman.. you are today's hero. The twinnies might even be getting enough sleep now that they can go to preschool in the morning. Yay us!

Jim Brickman album cover image via Google images

And The Winner Is....

Congratulations, Beth Stone! You won the Bookworm! You have 48 hours to claim your prize. Watch your inbox, an email from me will be there shortly, asking for shipping info. Happy Wednesday, Beth!

Animation by Photobucket

The Stuff From Which Nightmares Are Made

Last night I was doing my nine thousandth load of laundry (what? I was without a dryer for a couple of days, remember??), attempting to tame the scary laundry Matterhorn, and went to grab some clothing off the laundry room floor when I saw it. The thing that scares me more than anything else in the world, where Logan is concerned. Black mold. Yes, people. Black mold. The stuff that can make sick people sicker, mimic asthma in those who have never had asthma, cause allergic reactions, headaches, fever and yes... even death if there is prolonged exposure or a person with a weak immune system comes in contact with those deadly, toxic spores.

And then I heard it. Allow me to share, so you can experience the horror with me. Go ahead. I'll wait.

I followed the dripping to my water heater closet, opened the door timidly and there it was. Crawling up the walls, matriculating under the door into a split in the vinyl perfectly concealed by the bottom of the door, oozing under the flooring, traveling to the walls of the laundry room, growing under my baseboards, hopping through the common wall to the bathroom *shudder*. I have mold in three rooms of my (rental) house. Ty Pennington, where ARE YOU when I need you??

Okay, okay. I realize that the Miller Family's home was poisoned with Radon gas. But still! I wanna blow up a house....

Oh, FINE. Instead I will play the part of the HazMat/construction worker and rip up floors, take out walls, cut new dry wall, and learn to lay vinyl after replacing sub floor. In a house I don't own. Because I have a stupid landlord. Who won't give us a break on the rent for doing all this. Who hasn't been around since Christmas before last. Who won't take my calls. Who won't do all this FOR us. I must growl now.

Okay. Whining completed. I'm going to climb into my hazmat gear (lookit me, mom! Just like "Hoarders"!!) and start doing some damage. Helpful hints, snarky suggestions, or willingness to help me whine is ALWAYS appreciated in the comment section. ;)

All videos embedded via YouTube. Shocker, right?

We Survived The Egyptian Cotton Towel Explosion.. I Think

One of these days, y'all are going to start asking me if I make these stories up. People, I can't lie that well. It's true. And I have a brand new one for you.

Last week, the week that brought me to tears on more than one occasion, the week during which I was never once bored, the week that I am lucky to have survived? Yeah. That week. Well. Part of the fun and games of last week was bouts of stomach flu from various monsters. In fact, that was going on while I was on the phone "in court" (in reality I was hiding in the master bathroom shower stall with the sliding doors closed and the phone on mute unless I was asked a direct question. This is so the twinnies couldn't find me ~ #3 was home~, and so the court wouldn't hear my monsterlettes screaming "Mumma! Pweeeez come home!" and report me.).

Ahem. Yes. Sick monsters. Right. And with sick monsters comes the spewing of various disgusting body fluids that no one needs to hear about in detail. Right? Right. And with the spewing comes the inevitable cleaning of the spewing. Now, I'm a bit anal when it comes to cleaning up sick spew, and I use bleach. #3 was elected to clean up his own spew, and he did. And he used bleach and everything. But he left the closed gallon jug of bleach on his bathroom counter after he finished swabbing the deck. Now, you know and I know that if anything catastrophic can happen in the Monster House, it will. And it did.

Imagine my confusion when #4 came up to me while I was making brownies that afternoon and said, "WHAT are you putting in those brownies? It reeks like bleach!"  I didn't smell anything and told her so. So she stomped off to her room in a huff, in that special way that only pre-teen girls can. It was about a nanosecond later that I heard screaming and shrieking and thunderous steps running down the hallway back to the kitchen.

Anyone want to guess? You'd be correct. The bleach hit the floor, soaking the vinyl and traveling on to bleach a 3'x1' strip of the girls' bedroom carpet. I don't mean it bleached the carpet a little lighter. What was once beige is now lemon yellow.  I hollered at the kids to grab all the white towels they could find. Of course they bring Egyptian cotton bath towels, but this was no time to be picky, doing the frenzied "Oh, CRAP!" hop on the towels over the bleach, to make sure it didn't spread further. That pic over there--> ? Not MY bleach mark, but it helps make the point.

Have I mentioned that we RENT this house? Yeah.  So. Back to the story. The oldest monsters took the bleach saturated towels to the laundry room for me to deal with in a few minutes, after I turned on the bathroom exhaust fan, opened windows, and banned the children from the bedroom.

Following is my schedule for the next few hours of that day: Toss towels in washer to rinse . Spin. Take brownies I forgot about out of the oven.  Rinse cycle again. Spin. Wash cycle with no detergent. Rinse again. Toss towels in dryer. Go to remove towels from dryer, envision very VERY clean white towels that smell yummy from fabric softener sheet. Stick hand in dryer. Remove hand from dryer, full of terry cloth and Egyptian cotton shred. Contemplate crying. Veto that idea.

The towels.. well, in a previous life they were towels.. now resembled dandelion fluff. in the dryer, in the lint screen, in the dryer guts. This prompted me to cease and desist all laundry efforts until the Daddy could get the whole thing vacuumed out.

BUT... we survived it! I survived the week from Hell. This is a good thing, right? And now... to research carpet dye.....

Images in this post via the Google

Sacred Family Saturday And Other Silliness

Saturday is sacred. Yes indeed. Saturday is the day that I torture the monsters by making them clean their rooms, nag  them into participating in family activities, and generally make an idiot of myself by letting my #4 do my makeup and/or hair, run around the house with the twinnie monsterlettes, and occasionally take my entourage of monsters on trips to town.

Even now, as I type I am listening to hysterical twinnie laughter as they run around the house, alternately chasing and being chased by #2. And #6 just screeched to a halt next to me, holding an upside down rubber toilet plunger (as yet unused) full of cheerios, to ask me if I wanted a snack. There are SO many things wrong with this, I can't begin to list them. And I'm laughing so hard, I'm near falling off my chair.

There is a point. Stick with me, here. I always get to it eventually. During this past week, I have gotten so many emails, texts, direct messages on twitter, private messages on facebook, about parents taking care of themselves. Sometimes it involved being a parent of a special needs child. Sometimes it didn't. But the theme is always the same. Parents are stressed out people. What a shocker, right? I know this is breaking news. They are sent by parents, by our school, by companies having online conferences. They are sent by friends and friends of friends.  Because, well... parents are stressed out people!

Once, when sharing an experience regarding one of my monsters with my father (you know the kind I mean... one of the times where you look at your child, and you grab handfuls of your own hair, look heavenward and ask "WHY?!") he asked me, "So. When you signed up to be a parent, is this what you imagined it would be like?" Uh. No.

For me personally, this has been a week from the new depths of Hell. It has totally and completely, without a shadow of a doubt, sucked. And I've cried buckets of tears for the better part of it. But then silly things happen, like being offered cheerios in a toilet plunger. Or #6 in his big sister's fedora eating 2 lollies at a time, taking off at a dead run when I see him, because those lollies are not on the Logan safe list (DARN all those Valentine's Day parties the older kids had in school!!).

Parents (me included) need to take care of themselves. It's a fact. But it's a lot easier said than done. While watching an interview with Joan Rivers the other night (TOTALLY addicted to Joan & Melissa: Joan Knows Best ~Tuesdays at 9/8c.. little free advertising for WE tv there. You're welcome.), she said something that really struck me. She said something to the effect that she takes the really horrible things in life.. the really awful things that make everyone cringe and cry, and makes jokes out of them, because it's better to laugh. I don't necessarily agree with all her jokes about horrible things, but I can see her point. You have a choice in life. You can choose to get drug under the bus and let it run over you, or you can hang on and be thankful for the ride.

Take care of yourselves, all you parents out there. Take the opportunity to laugh instead of cry. Take a nap instead of making yourself do dishes or laundry when you're so worn out the thought nearly makes you fall over. I promise it will all still be there waiting for you when you wake up. Talk to a friend and let yourself vent, instead of keeping all your upset inside. Exercise (I know. Exercise. Don't even get me started). Do whatever you need to do to keep yourself sane, and happy, and feeling worthwhile. Let a neighbor, a friend, a family member come and tend the kids.. even if you're home when they do. Never pass up a nap opportunity.

Parents are warriors. But even warriors need a shower and a hair cut once in a while. Sending y'all much love.

Joan and Melissa image from therisinghollywood.com , other images found via the google, when searching "rubber toilet plunger" and "cheerios" images. Seriously! Look for yourself!

If It Please The Court..

Today, I will attend/testify in court. Out of state. In my sweats. From the comfort of my own home. While drinking coffee. I love court over the phone. I get to be respectful and professional and stuff, all while feeling like I'm getting away with something because I'm not wearing a skirt, hose, or heels. I don't even need a paralegal certification, though it could be an interesting career move.  I'm not nervous, running late, or cursing myself because I left information behind. And I may or may not have had a shower yet this morning. All court appearances should be like this.

There is this one issue though... twinnies that have been screaming at each other since 7:30 am (it's now 10:00am). And, if I don't find something to bribe them with quickly, this could be bad. And, it is a little more difficult to remember that I am in court, and must therefore do the "Yes, your Honor" and "I do"  thing.

Tomorrow? A real blog post, to make up for this one. Have a great day, y'all!

Hustle Yer Bustle

In December, the Monster House was struck down with varying degrees of Bronchitis, Walking Pneumonia, and colds. It was not a pretty sight. I had a persistent, not even remotely fun infection and cough that lasted for approximately 6 weeks. The length of time and severity of my particular brand of "being sick" so alarmed one of my dear friends that she said during a phone call (during which I coughed and hacked until I saw stars and gasped for air), "Look, you're very sick. You've had this infection for weeks, and you lead a fairly sedentary life. This could literally KILL you!"

I was unmedicated, unseen by medical professionals, and it seemed, was only getting sicker. I am the one person in the familiy without insurance, you see. So, I would shuttle my monsters back and forth to doctors' appointments, run up to the pharmacy to get no less than 2 prescriptions per monster, all the while coughing and hacking like a 4 pack a day, 40 year smoker.

But when my friend told me that the infection could kill me because of my lifestyle, there it was. CLICK. I need to ..  it would be a very smart move for me to... (you realize, I'm having a heck of a time admitting to this).. yikes. Okay. I'm taking a deep breath. Here we go. I need to find a way to exercise that won't offend my life long voluntary allergy to putting on spandex and hopping and jiggling about in the midst of 45 perfectly toned, 12 pound little bodies. Let me let you in on a little secret. Women that weigh 12 pounds irritate me. They just do. And also? Women that say how much they loooooove to exercise? Should never come over to my house. Fair warning.

I used to joke about this : "I don't exercise! I would scare small children and household pets! It's a public service that I don't exercise, really!" And when the twinnies came along, there was this perfect, built in excuse. I can't leave home, because of Logan. There ya go. Can't exercise! Gee. Darn. So heartbroken about that. But, I run after 7 monsters all day long. That's exercise! And seriously, I only eat one meal a day, usually dinner, and usually at about 10 pm, or later. I'm not overindulging. I have a low calorie intake. I could go on for days with all the reasons/excuses I have. It's an art form for me.

But in the last few weeks, I've really felt the need to get in shape. I'm getting ill more often. I'm tired. I'm worn out just by doing normal, every day things. This is not good. Not good at all. And so, I'm going to do it. I just want y'all to know how much I'm hating saying all this. And it should be understood from the beginning that I plan to moan, and whine, and cry, and complain about it forevermore. It's my right as a fat woman. And at this point, even Mousercise is beyond my capability.

I remember my mother's workout videos. I have a deep and abiding hatred for Jane Fonda. So here's what I wanna know. How do y'all get your exercise in? The first person to mention pole dancing or procreation practice will be punished. Severely. In ways that you've not yet dreamed of.

I did have a short period of mental illness, when I loved everything Tae Bo. However, that was three pregnancies ago, and Billy Blanks makes me cry now. So bring it on, people. What *gulp* workout can you envision me doing? Your answers will be my entertainment for the day. Let's see how silly things get around here!

images lovingly provided by the Google when searching mousercise, I Love Lucy exercise, vintage exercise equipment

Guest Post: Teaching Our Kids To Fail

Today's post brought to you by Liz from SpectrumU, who writes from the perspective of a mother of a child on the spectrum about to graduate high school, getting ready for college. She contacted me after I posted the open call for guests, and... WOW!  Show the bloggy love, people!

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Eleven years ago, spring was consumed with worry about where our oldest (whom I call Cactus on blogs) would go to kindergarten. We went to school fairs and open houses; I talked to friends and co-workers. I visited one private school without telling Cactus, and the minute I walked into the classroom I knew it was the wrong place – children lined up in neat rows, dressed identically, working diligently on reports that all looked the same with perfect penmanship (reports? these were seven-year-olds!) and raising their hands (rarely) if they needed help. The room was silent.

It wasn’t that Cactus couldn’t have collected the information for a report. He had recently moved from an interest in paleontology (he skipped right over dinosaurs to memorize the details of the Paleozoic and Mesozoic eras) to meteorology. At one open house he’d asked a bewildered kindergarten teacher who was telling us about her curriculum plan involving reading readiness, “So, when are we going to get to talk about cold fronts?” But the conformity, the neat handwriting, the spotless white shirts tucked into pressed pants with sharp leather belts? This was not the school for our “out of the box” boy.

Cactus is “2e” – twice exceptional. He is intellectually gifted in ways that take his parents’ breath away. We never did find that ideal kindergarten placement; he ended up skipping after a week into a first/second grade classroom with a teacher who relished the challenge. The fact that his passion for weather soon morphed into memorizing (and reciting – often) the periodic table didn’t faze her a bit. Thank goodness. She even moved into a second/third grade class two years later so Cactus could have her for three consecutive years.

 

While exceptionally bright, Cactus is also on the autism spectrum, with a distinct splash of Asperger’s Syndrome. He didn’t start to talk until he was almost two, and half of his first 50 “words” were letters of the alphabet. We didn’t think much of his differences in those first years, with preschool and elementary teachers who nurtured his eccentricities. In fact, we didn’t really acknowledge there was anything amiss until his very neurotypical brother came along and we learned what “normal” looked like. Over the next few years, we saw a lot of that second “e.” Handwriting that never did move beyond a second-grade scrawl. Learning to ride a bike (finally) at 11. Refusing to look teachers in the eye. Never going to a sleepover. Losing countless planners without any assignments written in them. Enduring bullying that school officials didn’t – or wouldn’t – see. Panic attacks. Depression.

Like most parents of children with special needs, our calendars have been covered with details of therapy appointments and IEP meetings; our house filled with toys designed to help develop lagging skills; many of my days consumed with online searches and attempts to connect with others facing the same challenges. It’s not very interesting stuff to those who are walking the same road; we all want our children to succeed and will do almost anything to get there. For us, it’s worked - people usually see Cactus as a more-or-less normal, if geeky, teenager.

Now we are again looking at schools –this year, colleges. Fairs and open houses and visits and lots of time online gathering suggestions – the rhythm is familiar. This time, however, I am accompanied by a tall young man who strides along in a long black wool coat and a bowler hat, could care less about the win/loss record of the school’s football team, and fills out those information cards in still-fairly-illegible block letters. Some schools have full-fledged support programs for students “on the spectrum,” others almost no safety net at all – and in any case, Cactus will have to take the initiative to advocate for himself and get what he needs. A few schools have the option of a single room even as a freshman – or would Cactus be better served by having to negotiate life with a roommate? Even dining halls present worries for this mom – I’m pretty sure Cactus will never touch the beautiful salad bars and will instead go for the all-you-can-eat-deep-fried-smorgasbords with Mountain Dew chasers. Can you die of malnutrition in college? And don’t get me started on the drinking, drugs, and casual sex that pervade many campuses. Cactus isn’t the only one dealing with panic attacks anymore.

We’ve had to radically shift our parenting strategy in preparation. Up until now, we’ve advocated for him, looked for coming obstacles and cleared them, talked to teachers before the term starts – in short, made sure he succeeded. This year, our motto is “let him fail.” Let him fail in little, (mostly) repairable ways, where we can debrief with him and he can figure out how to address the damage. We have let him forget to set an alarm, miss class, and land in detention. Let him learn the hard way that staying up all night playing SimCity makes the next day intensely painful. Let him put off telling a teacher about his accommodation for writing exams on a laptop and have to plead for the use of one at the last minute. Let him get a low grade in the first term of senior year, jeopardizing at least one college admission. Let him spend all his money buying books on a trip downtown and have to skip lunch.

We’ve even put him “in the line of fire” by letting him go by himself on a summer overseas service trip, negotiating plane changes and staying by himself in a hotel en route. He had a few misadventures – he met up with a drunk who wanted to steal his hat, and he hitchhiked (ack!) from the hotel to a restaurant- but he came home healthy and immensely pleased with himself and his abilities. The depression has largely disappeared as he’s realized that much of what he’s hated about high school (notebook checks, gym class, mandatory pep rallies) he won’t have to deal with in college, and he’ll finally get to study what he truly loves in an in-depth way. He looked for, and found, plenty of fellow “nerds” at the colleges he chose to apply to, and can’t wait to have a real social tribe.

Still, we’re not sure he’s ready for college. He’s recently been accepted for a study abroad program as a
“gap year” before he starts college. We’re waiting until the admissions decisions come back this spring to make a final plan. We want so much for him to succeed in college – as does he. The question we’re still asking ourselves is, has he failed enough yet?

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I'm Liz, and I blog at SpectrumU, a site I started earlier this year for parents seeking college options for their children on the autism spectrum (so as not to let all that good information I gathered go to waste). I live in Pennsylvania with an amazing husband plus Cactus, his brother Dash, a beloved Rhodesian Ridgeback, and a cat who mostly just sleeps on our bed and sheds. In addition to the blog, I tweet (@asdatcollege), and SpectrumU can also be found on Facebook.

There Is No "I" In Wii.

The Monster House has become afflicted with the Wii addiction. I'm told that this is a serious condition, one in which withdrawals can result if quitting is not handled carefully.  I have to tell ya.. I'm leaning toward the "Cold Turkey" version for my monsters.

For the last 17 years of motherhood, I have avoided all things video game in my home. I didn't want it, they didn't need it. I wanted to have children that knew the meaning of fresh air, sunshine, playing outside with friends, and mud pies. Snowmen, forts, and bike riding. Bicycles, hula hoops, and pogo sticks. Jump rope, hopscotch, and ice blocking in the summer. In short, I had no desire to allow my children to become zombified, glazed over lumps of humanity; faces devoid of expression while their little thumbs danced over a game remote, with no motivation to get up and socialize with their peers in person.

And then, Christmas before last, one of the monsters' aunts thought she would boost her aunt status right up there to "Saint" with one great gift that the monsters had been salivating over... without asking for parental opinion/permission/blessing. Now. It turns out that it wasn't as bad as it could have been, because she bought them a previously owned Wii. And when we got it, it was missing the motion sensor. Gee, darn. Darn, darn, DARN. Notice my lack of real distress.

I thought we had escaped the Wii. I really did. And then, a couple of weeks ago, #1 got a package in the mail. "Better late than never!" it said. And when she opened it, there was screaming and dancing and excitement the likes of which is never seen around the Monster House, save for Christmas Morning. It was a motion sensor.

For the last two weeks, conversations in my home have been something like this:

"So-and-So, I swear to you if I have to tell you to get off the Wii and come do your chore one more time, the Wii is MINE. Mine, henceforth and forever, amen! I'm your mother. I command you."

"MOM! #3 has been playing the Wii all.day.long. and he won't let me have a turn, and Aunt Whatshername said it was for all of us! MOM! Mooooooooom! #3 isn't sharing!"

"Mom! I'm starving! What do you mean dinner was 2 hours ago? Why didn't you call me? You did? 57 times? Oh. Well, then why didn't you make me a plate and keep it warm until I was done playing the Wii?"

"MOTHER! #1 came in and turned off the Wii! She's not the boss of me! I said I would do my chore after I got to level ninety bazillion! I just made it to level 4 and she turned it off!"

My children, previously accustomed to coming home from school, getting a snack, doing homework and chore, and then meeting up with friends, are now ruled by a gaming system. And I hate it, hate it, HATE it. I hate seeing the very real distress on their faces when the console overheats and they have to wait for it to cool before they can play again. Because heaven forbid they read a book, or speak to each other in voices that don't resemble the gentle tones of a banshee.

I've read all about how Wii can help with hand/eye coordination.  I have read eleventy million arguments both pro and con. For me, I'm not willing to give up my family to a gaming system, of any kind! And so, being the mean, horrible, nasty, terrible, unrelenting, uncompassionate, cruel woman that I am, I have abducted the Wii remotes. I will be writing the ransom note later and duct taping it to the TV screen.

There is no "I" in Wii.. er, "We". WE are a family, not a gaming system. It's likely that the ransom will be met for the Wii remotes. And it's likely that  I will allow the monsters to play with the Wii again...someday. But we're going to get real comfortable with a kitchen timer, first. And, I'm not above abducting that motion sensor, either. The time has come for me to reclaim my monsters. Oh, they're gonna HATE this. There will be begging, and pleading, and promises of glitter and rainbows if I will just let them play for 15 minutes. Me? I'm comfortable with my decision.

Wii remote image from the Google

Screw The Chores, Let's Go To The Movies!

Yesterday, I decided that it was high time that the monsters and I had an outing. We rarely ever go out as a family (it's been months and months) and frankly, another weekend of nagging the monsters about getting the chores done was about as appealing as a triple root canal. So, about 30 minutes after I got out of bed, I called all the monsters together for some Very Important News.  "Babies," I began "we have a lot to do today. We are going to be very busy people." Not surprisingly, this announcement was met with groanings and moanings. However, I continued on bravely. "Get it together, get your breakfast, get dressed, and ready for the day. Screw the chores, let's go to the movies!"

Now, it was about this time that the monsters started to think I had been abducted by aliens at some point during the night, or had been selected to participate in a clinical trial for hallucinogenic drugs not yet approved by the FDA.

But I have to tell ya.. yesterday was AWESOME! The twinnies got to play at a McDonald's playland...a first for them. We went to the movies, another first for the twinnies. Then, we had the car washed (which is entertainment in and of itself, you know), and wrapped it all up with a trip to mega Wally world where every monster got to spend $1.07 or less on anything they wanted, while I selected a couple of therapy balls for the twinnies. We swooped through the produce section for a piece of fruit each to eat on the 40 mile drive home, and finally walked back through our front door 7 hours after we started our adventure, exhausted and exhilarated, because (the monsters are still shocked) "Mom said screw the chores!"

It was Sacred Family Saturday, people, and it just doesn't get much better than this. I mean, come on! Isn't it every child's dream to be able to have $1.07 of their very own to spend at mega Wally world? I'm such a big spender....

I was thinking about our day late last night, when I was so tired I had to calm down before I could sleep. And I came to this conclusion: I am exhausted... but it's the good kind of tired, when you know you accomplished something great, and the tiredness is proof that it was all worth it. And then.. I fell asleep, completely broke, full of the happy, and praying that no one would wake up at the crack of dawn.

Open Call For Guest Posting

Because of the diversity of the Special Needs community, I'm announcing an open call for guest writers for my blog. This open call is for everyone within our community, whether you have a blog or not, whether you are a professional writer, or have never written a piece before. If you are a parent, teacher, therapist, sibling, or friend of a child with special needs, or if you have special needs yourself, you qualify!

I am not giving out topics, except to say that I would like to stay away from topics which cause heated debate,such as vaccines vs. genetics as a cause of autism. All special needs topics are otherwise acceptable, from autism to epilepsy to cerebral palsy to Down's Syndrome to SPD.. it truly is an endless list of possibilities. You could talk about schools, specialists, therapy, medications, communication or the lack thereof, lack of sleep, picky eaters... you see how this could go on and on.

If you are interested, and have a topic in mind, please email me at: frazzledmomma@livingwithlogan.com 

Don't be afraid to try, don't be afraid to let your voice be heard. Take advantage of the opportunity, and embrace the possibility that there might be someone else out there just like you, just waiting for the chance to read what you have to say. And I would be honored to assist in that.

image in this post from the Google

Have We Lost Our Credibility?

I have a confession. There are days when I feel like I have lost my credibility as a Special Needs Parent. So much so, in fact, that it's a big reason for why I stopped posting. It took several good friends to kick me in the butt to make me realize that what I have to say is okay.

I have been afraid to post because... Logan is doing great! He's not had a seizure in almost a year. He hasn't had an allergic reaction in a long time. He is doing phenomenally academically. We're reintroducing gluten without a hitch, though we're keeping him off casein until the end of time. And this makes me wonder if I really have anything to offer to parents of special needs children who are not doing phenomenally. Have I lost my voice? My credibility, because there has not been a trauma with Logan in recent weeks? And because of that, what can I truly say? What is there to write about? I've felt all dried up, a failure as a writer, for months now.

I have so much more to share, apart from crisis surrounding PDD, SPD, food allergies, and IEPs. But there's still that little part of me that wonders if I'm a fraud. I can write about the monsters all day long. I can talk endlessly about how laundry makes me angry. But the closeness I feel with the special needs community is near and dear to my heart. I feel a special bond with friends I have made in this community, and in some cases, love them as I love family. And I empathize. I feel their frustration when there are no answers, when there are weeks of non sleep cycles, sickness, infusions, seizures, problems with school and IEPs, lack of services... the whole shebang.

Don't get me wrong. In no way am I shouting "Logan is CURED!" from the rooftops. Partially because I don't believe autism is a disease, or that it has a "cure", and partially because I know there will be regression, because Logan doesn't retain well when routines are interrupted. I know that summer vacation will be hard on him academically, and we'll be back at square one or lower next year.

I'm NOT saying goodbye. This blog is alive and well. But I think in order to be true to myself, there will be lots more posting about all the other monsters, and life in our family. Because after all, there is a LOT of it! First and foremost, I am the Momma. Being a writer is secondary to that. So, welcome to our family (again). Brace yourselves. I may write about preteen drama queen. Or my senior in high school. Or my teenage boys that make the need for a garbage disposal obsolete. Or Logan, who insists now that his name is Mrs. Hoggenmuller. (thanks for that, Nick Jr.)

But before I go on... I need to know. Have I lost my credibility? Is that ever possible? Let me hear it, people.

Images from the google~ Specifically, the google found Mrs.Hogenmuller from nickjr.com

Adult Essentials Gummies: A Review and #G!veaway!

It's hard to believe that I could love Life Science Nutritionals more than I already did, after meeting with Deb and working with her to present the Iron Kids Gummies review and giveaway we did a while back. But guess what! I do indeed love Life Science Nutritionals more now, because they have a whole line of ADULT gummy vitamins and supplements, too! I am no longer jealous of my little monsters, as they chomp and chew on their fun gummies, and fight to see who gets to choose their vitamins first, while I  choke down "horse pills". I'm a big kid now! Yippee!

We were sent a bottle each of Adult Essentials Enhanced Multivitamin with Omega-3, DHA and RHA, Smart Omega-3, Adult Strength Vitamin D, and Metabolic Vitamin B12 to try. They. Are. Awesome! Truly, I was so impressed. No weird metallic/chalky/vitamin-y taste at all. It's seriously just like eating gummy fruits candies. The only supplement I had any issue with is the Omega-3, because it's shaped like a fish and has a very mild fishy after taste.  My imagination is overactive and my taste buds are happy to contribute to the delusion. However, my mother and the Daddy tried them and said they didn't get even the hint of fishy flavor. Because the multi has Omega-3 as well, I didn't feel bad about not taking an additional Omega-3 supplement.

Here's the very best part: just like Iron Kids, the Adult Essentials line is gluten, nut, and dairy free. And as you know, the Monster House loves finding stuff like that! Check out the guarantee from the Adult Essentials website:

Our Guarantee 

Life Science Nutritionals specializes in Gummy Vitamins and only manufactures gummy vitamins.

As North America's only government audited and licensed gummy vitamin manufacturing facility, we are mandated to maintain the highest quality standards. These standards are maintained all the way through our supply chain and our manufacturing processes. By controlling our manufacturing we can guarantee that our products are dairy, nut and gluten free.  With Health Canada's stamp of approval you can be assured that our products deliver nutrition you can trust!!

Stuart Lowther 
Founder/CEO/President
Life Science Nutritionals Inc

How cool is that?! Want to know more about the people behind Life Science Nutritionals, and why it was created in the first place? Click on over, and read all about it! You can connect with Adult Essentials on facebook, twitter, linkedin, and youtube, too!

Buy It!

In Canada, Adult Essentials can be found at a variety of retailers, listed here . For US customers, log on to well.ca  to place your order today! You'll love them!

Win It!

One lucky Living with Logan reader in the US or Canada will win an Adult Essentials prize pack including:

• Adult Essentials Enhanced Multivitamin with Omega-3, DHA, and RHA
• Smart Omega-3
• Adult Strength Vitamin D
• Metabolic B12

Please note: if you have won an Iron Kids or Adult Essentials prize pack from Life Science Nutritionals within the last 6 months, you will not be eligible to win this giveaway. Entries will be verified prior to releasing the name of the winner.


To enter, simply fill out the rafflecopter form below. Be aware that it may take a couple of minutes to load. If you have trouble viewing the form, try reloading the page.