One would think that, after years of hiking around in the woods, the Mom of No would be able to avoid poison ivy. Since I am right now sitting here unsuccessfully trying not to scratch the rash on my arm, it is manifestly evident that no, I cannot avoid the stuff. Poison ivy is from the devil. I don't even think I have to touch it anymore; I just have to see it. Or, I don't even have to see it. I just have to envision it. If you tell me poison ivy is somewhere, I will break out in a rash just thinking about those leaves of three. I will probably break out in a brand new rash just by writing about poison ivy. The offspring will probably gladly testify that I get poison ivy at least a few times a year, and it sucks!
Having a poison ivy rash is a lot like having a baby. You're up all night, everyone has a comment or a story to share with you, and everyone has a lot of advice to offer you, some good, some not so good.
Having seen the movie "Big Fat Greek Wedding", in which the father advocates the use of Windex to cure all ills, the teenagers have suggested using Windex to reduce the itching of the rash. I can tell you that Windex does not work. Yes, I tried it. At 2 AM, when you have the irresistible urge to scratch off an entire layer of skin, you will try anything. Even Windex.
What does work is prednisone, but prednisone also gives me insomnia and the munchies, so instead of not sleeping because I am itching, I am not sleeping because I am in the kitchen at 2 AM eating pickles out of a jar, just like when I was pregnant (although then I think it might have been watermelon and mustard). Also, to get prednisone you have to go to the doctor, and then there's the whole thing again about "how did this happen to you? Don't you know better by now?". Ok, so maybe I wasn't wearing a long sleeved shirt. I don't need the judging! I'm suffering enough!
When people see the rash, I can tell they are curious and deciding if they want to ask what it is and, more importantly, is it contagious? I'll glance at it and then at them and mouth the words "poison ivy". Then the eyes will get wide, and the poison ivy horror stories come out. It's like women talking about going into labor. Almost everyone has a poison ivy story. Often, these stories involve sensitive body orifices, trips to the emergency room, and weeks of horrendous itching. People who have never had poison ivy (or been in labor) start to look a little shocked and green around the gills.
Occasionally someone will say "oh, I'm so lucky, I'm not allergic". If you are one of those lucky people, you should keep that information to yourself. You're not helping. You're the poison ivy version of the mom who says "Oh, my baby slept through the night as soon as we brought her home from the hospital".
Even if I can manage the itching during the day, at night it becomes exponentially worse. As the night wears on, I lay there cursing the moment that I got into the poison ivy. Then I become sleep-deprived, I attempt to mitigate the lack of sleep with additional caffeine, and I become a hyperactive sleep deprived person with poison ivy. It's not a good time for me to make important decisions.
At least with poison ivy, I don't have to worry about people wanting to touch my belly, like they did when I was pregnant. No one in their right mind would want to touch that rash. Even I don't want to touch it and it's my poison ivy rash.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Easter Basket Angst
Tonight, I am finishing up the parental Eastertide ritual of gathering up goodies for the teenagers' Easter baskets. I have proposed to the offspring that once you stop believing that the Easter Bunny is real, you are probably too old for an Easter basket, but that concept was met with incredulous disbelief. Easter is like Halloween in this way; teenagers are staring straight ahead at adulthood, but they're not quite ready to say goodbye to the rituals of childhood like Easter baskets and trick or treating yet.
I am an Easter basket candy Scrooge; I try to be judicious in the amount of candy placed in the baskets, mostly because I can't handle temptation and whatever doesn't get eaten before church on Easter morning will be eaten by me, stealthily, after church on Easter afternoon. Unfortunately, my doctor seems to think I'd be better off eating carrot sticks instead of Twix bars. If I have to suffer, we're all going to suffer. However, as a tree-hugger, I also try to avoid unessential plastic.
I've seen plenty of pictures of plastic bits floating around the ocean looking disgusting and hurting wildlife. As a proud Adopt-A-Spot owner, I've picked up plenty of discarded plastic items of all varieties. I also hate wasting money on stuff I know is going to end up in the trash can. Unfortunately, a lot of Easter-themed candy comes packaged in a lot of excess plastic. Every time I am tempted to buy some fun little plastic toy, I have to remind myself of what I know to be true after years of dealing with Happy Meal toys:
No matter how cute or fun, it will end up in the local landfill in about one week.
Therefore, I tell myself, walk away from the slinky. Put down the Rubik's cube key chain. Just say no to the bouncing ball that lights up. Walk past the plastic rabbit filled with Reese's Pieces candy. Avoid the adorable tins filled with miniature chocolate candy bars, while averting the gaze and murmuring the mantra "carrot sticks! carrot sticks!".
Cute today, landfill tomorrow.
I decided to ask the offspring if they had other ideas for Easter basket fillers. I guess I was thinking they'd have useful suggestions for inexpensive items that could be easily obtained at the local grocery stores. However, I was quickly disillusioned when I talked to my son.
Me: Give me some ideas for things you'd like to find in your Easter basket.
Son: The Fire Station Lego Set!
Me: (looking on Amazon) This is expensive!
Son: Mom, the Easter Bunny has money!
I think he has the Easter Bunny confused with Santa Claus.
I am an Easter basket candy Scrooge; I try to be judicious in the amount of candy placed in the baskets, mostly because I can't handle temptation and whatever doesn't get eaten before church on Easter morning will be eaten by me, stealthily, after church on Easter afternoon. Unfortunately, my doctor seems to think I'd be better off eating carrot sticks instead of Twix bars. If I have to suffer, we're all going to suffer. However, as a tree-hugger, I also try to avoid unessential plastic.
I've seen plenty of pictures of plastic bits floating around the ocean looking disgusting and hurting wildlife. As a proud Adopt-A-Spot owner, I've picked up plenty of discarded plastic items of all varieties. I also hate wasting money on stuff I know is going to end up in the trash can. Unfortunately, a lot of Easter-themed candy comes packaged in a lot of excess plastic. Every time I am tempted to buy some fun little plastic toy, I have to remind myself of what I know to be true after years of dealing with Happy Meal toys:
No matter how cute or fun, it will end up in the local landfill in about one week.
Therefore, I tell myself, walk away from the slinky. Put down the Rubik's cube key chain. Just say no to the bouncing ball that lights up. Walk past the plastic rabbit filled with Reese's Pieces candy. Avoid the adorable tins filled with miniature chocolate candy bars, while averting the gaze and murmuring the mantra "carrot sticks! carrot sticks!".
Cute today, landfill tomorrow.
I decided to ask the offspring if they had other ideas for Easter basket fillers. I guess I was thinking they'd have useful suggestions for inexpensive items that could be easily obtained at the local grocery stores. However, I was quickly disillusioned when I talked to my son.
Me: Give me some ideas for things you'd like to find in your Easter basket.
Son: The Fire Station Lego Set!
Me: (looking on Amazon) This is expensive!
Son: Mom, the Easter Bunny has money!
I think he has the Easter Bunny confused with Santa Claus.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Left Turns
The teenager is now the proud owner of a learner's permit. As I drive around with her, I've been trying to reinforce some driving rules and strategies for safe automobile operation. It's a little unnerving to see your child sitting in the driver's seat of a car for real; it's a definite sign that adulthood is really not that far away.
One driving skill that's come up has been making left turns. I've told her that you shouldn't make a left turn unless you are absolutely sure that you can proceed safely. If you have doubts, you should wait until you are confident it's clear, even if there is someone behind you honking or being obnoxious. Don't let someone else goad you into making a bad left turn because they're impatient to go. They will just have to suck it up for a few more minutes.
It sounds easy enough in theory, but sometimes it's hard not to let other drivers influence what you do on the road.
It occurred to me then that this is a life lesson bigger than making a left turn through an intersection, especially for the young woman I am raising, because I think that our society is extremely effective about giving girls messages about how to manage their relationships with other people that they carry into adulthood and that set them up for making decisions that aren't always in their best interests. Get along. Don't stir the pot. Be nice. Don't be bossy. Think of others first. Fit in with the crowd. Now that I'm nearing AARP eligibility, I've determined that a lot of that is nonsense. The happiest people I know are those living on their own terms, not trying to fit in. But I also think that's an understanding that comes with life experience for many of us. So to the teenager, I say this:
Don't let other people pressure you into making bad decisions, or decisions you are not comfortable with. Don't let other people determine when you make your left turns.
As the teenager get older and has more independence, she will have more opportunities to make bad left turns. Right now, I'm in the passenger seat, guiding her- wait for that car to go past because it's going a little too fast, we can't see if someone is coming because there's a car opposite us also in a turn lane, stay away from drugs, don't text and drive, concentrate on school, make sure you manage your time well, choose your friends wisely. If someone is pressuring you to do things you don't want to do, that person isn't really your friend. Walk away. Others' left turns are not necessarily yours. Don't feel that you need to do what other people are doing to be cool or to fit in. It might work for awhile, but you won't be happy with it.
The time is soon coming, though, when she will be on her own, choosing her own left turns. I hope that she has the fortitude and the ability to ignore the pressure from other people to make decisions that may not necessarily be what she wants or that are not in her best interest.
When you're new to driving, it can be a challenge to make decisions because you don't have experience to rely on. If someone is honking at you, maybe it is okay to go...that car isn't that close. Except, maybe it is too close and the other person is being an impatient jerk. However, it's your car making the turn, not theirs. Make the decision that is right for you, not for them.
One driving skill that's come up has been making left turns. I've told her that you shouldn't make a left turn unless you are absolutely sure that you can proceed safely. If you have doubts, you should wait until you are confident it's clear, even if there is someone behind you honking or being obnoxious. Don't let someone else goad you into making a bad left turn because they're impatient to go. They will just have to suck it up for a few more minutes.
It sounds easy enough in theory, but sometimes it's hard not to let other drivers influence what you do on the road.
It occurred to me then that this is a life lesson bigger than making a left turn through an intersection, especially for the young woman I am raising, because I think that our society is extremely effective about giving girls messages about how to manage their relationships with other people that they carry into adulthood and that set them up for making decisions that aren't always in their best interests. Get along. Don't stir the pot. Be nice. Don't be bossy. Think of others first. Fit in with the crowd. Now that I'm nearing AARP eligibility, I've determined that a lot of that is nonsense. The happiest people I know are those living on their own terms, not trying to fit in. But I also think that's an understanding that comes with life experience for many of us. So to the teenager, I say this:
Don't let other people pressure you into making bad decisions, or decisions you are not comfortable with. Don't let other people determine when you make your left turns.
As the teenager get older and has more independence, she will have more opportunities to make bad left turns. Right now, I'm in the passenger seat, guiding her- wait for that car to go past because it's going a little too fast, we can't see if someone is coming because there's a car opposite us also in a turn lane, stay away from drugs, don't text and drive, concentrate on school, make sure you manage your time well, choose your friends wisely. If someone is pressuring you to do things you don't want to do, that person isn't really your friend. Walk away. Others' left turns are not necessarily yours. Don't feel that you need to do what other people are doing to be cool or to fit in. It might work for awhile, but you won't be happy with it.
The time is soon coming, though, when she will be on her own, choosing her own left turns. I hope that she has the fortitude and the ability to ignore the pressure from other people to make decisions that may not necessarily be what she wants or that are not in her best interest.
When you're new to driving, it can be a challenge to make decisions because you don't have experience to rely on. If someone is honking at you, maybe it is okay to go...that car isn't that close. Except, maybe it is too close and the other person is being an impatient jerk. However, it's your car making the turn, not theirs. Make the decision that is right for you, not for them.
Monday, March 21, 2016
Fun with Plant ID!
Last weekend I went to a workshop on foraging and edible plants. My reasons for attending were to:
1. Have an excuse to go outside.
2. Acquire survival knowledge in case of the zombie apocalypse.
3. Learn some new facts to impress teenagers with.
After the workshop was over, I hiked around the area a bit, and found some flowering plants that I was not familiar with. I took some pictures and posted them on a naturalist website.
One of the plants was ID'd as "Fringed Puccoon". That is a fun name. It doesn't sound like a plant name; it sounds like an insult in a Shakesperean play: Out of my sight, thou unworthy fringed puccoon! Or, something a pirate would say: Avast, ye fringed puccoon! Hand over ye gold doubloons and walk the plank!
But it's really just a sweet little yellow flower:
Another favorite one is crowpoison. When I first learned the name, I had an image of some poor unfortunate crow giving it a try, falling deathly ill, and then croaking a deathbed warning to the other crows before expiring: Avoid the white flowers! Stay away! Beware!
In the foraging class, we did learn that it is toxic and not to mistake it for wild onion.
1. Have an excuse to go outside.
2. Acquire survival knowledge in case of the zombie apocalypse.
3. Learn some new facts to impress teenagers with.
After the workshop was over, I hiked around the area a bit, and found some flowering plants that I was not familiar with. I took some pictures and posted them on a naturalist website.
One of the plants was ID'd as "Fringed Puccoon". That is a fun name. It doesn't sound like a plant name; it sounds like an insult in a Shakesperean play: Out of my sight, thou unworthy fringed puccoon! Or, something a pirate would say: Avast, ye fringed puccoon! Hand over ye gold doubloons and walk the plank!
But it's really just a sweet little yellow flower:
 |
| Fringed puccoon |
Another favorite one is crowpoison. When I first learned the name, I had an image of some poor unfortunate crow giving it a try, falling deathly ill, and then croaking a deathbed warning to the other crows before expiring: Avoid the white flowers! Stay away! Beware!
In the foraging class, we did learn that it is toxic and not to mistake it for wild onion.
 |
| Crowpoison |
I do like this little flower- seeing it blooming means that spring is coming.
Friday, March 18, 2016
My Phone is Judging Me
Don't laugh, but the Mom of No finally got around to updating the iOS on her phone, about two years after it was released. Messing with technology makes me a bit nervous, and it hadn't really been necessary until I started getting messages from the apps I had installed, telling me that my iOS was out of date and the app upgrade couldn't be run. The situation was becoming a code red technology emergency.
So I ran the update, without teenager help, even, and it went well. All my nightmares about the phone crashing and losing all my data went unrealized. Whew, what a relief. I was half expecting a message to appear that said "what took you so long, technophobe?" but there was no judging. Not yet.
A day later, I was waiting in line and I started poking around, looking at all these new little gadgets that had miraculously appeared on my phone. One was called "Health". What was this, I wondered? Some new app that would harangue me relentlessly until I quit procrastinating about making that annual well-woman exam? I wasn't sure I wanted that, although I probably need it.
I pressed down on the little square, and what appeared was a chart showing how many steps I'd taken that day, and how many miles I walked. The conclusion you could come to by looking at it was easy: I sit a lot and don't walk very far. In other words, I'm lazy and I have a desk job.
I will own that I don't get as much exercise as I should. However, now that I know that my phone knows that, I started feeling like I had something to prove. I do walk more than you say I do, you silly phone. You have no idea how much I am walking. Sometimes I am walking and I do not take you with me. This count is not accurate!
The next day, I had to go talk to a co-worker. I took the phone. I'm walking! I'm going down the stairs! I'm going back up the stairs! Look, phone, I am up to nearly 2,000 steps and it's not even noon! I became determined that I was going to get that app to say that I had walked 10,000 steps that day. Everywhere I went, the phone went, too. I even parked further away than I needed to in the grocery store parking lot, just to get more steps on my phone.
Later, the Son of Never Stops Eating and I went to the Y to work out. I was determined to get credit for that on my phone. Would my phone count the number of steps I took on the treadmill if I didn't carry it with me? What if I stuck it in the little holder? I started experimenting. I probably looked silly, walking on the treadmill carrying my phone next to me. However, the step count was going up, up, up! I was winning!
I actually have no idea how accurate that count is. I also know that my phone really doesn't care how far I walk, or how many steps I take in a day. However, I still don't want my phone thinking I am lazy. I suppose if that gets me to move around more, then it's probably a good thing. So if you see my car parked at the very back of the parking lot, I'm doing one of two things: I'm parking under a tree to get the shade, or I'm showing my phone who the boss really is around here.
So I ran the update, without teenager help, even, and it went well. All my nightmares about the phone crashing and losing all my data went unrealized. Whew, what a relief. I was half expecting a message to appear that said "what took you so long, technophobe?" but there was no judging. Not yet.
A day later, I was waiting in line and I started poking around, looking at all these new little gadgets that had miraculously appeared on my phone. One was called "Health". What was this, I wondered? Some new app that would harangue me relentlessly until I quit procrastinating about making that annual well-woman exam? I wasn't sure I wanted that, although I probably need it.
I pressed down on the little square, and what appeared was a chart showing how many steps I'd taken that day, and how many miles I walked. The conclusion you could come to by looking at it was easy: I sit a lot and don't walk very far. In other words, I'm lazy and I have a desk job.
I will own that I don't get as much exercise as I should. However, now that I know that my phone knows that, I started feeling like I had something to prove. I do walk more than you say I do, you silly phone. You have no idea how much I am walking. Sometimes I am walking and I do not take you with me. This count is not accurate!
The next day, I had to go talk to a co-worker. I took the phone. I'm walking! I'm going down the stairs! I'm going back up the stairs! Look, phone, I am up to nearly 2,000 steps and it's not even noon! I became determined that I was going to get that app to say that I had walked 10,000 steps that day. Everywhere I went, the phone went, too. I even parked further away than I needed to in the grocery store parking lot, just to get more steps on my phone.
Later, the Son of Never Stops Eating and I went to the Y to work out. I was determined to get credit for that on my phone. Would my phone count the number of steps I took on the treadmill if I didn't carry it with me? What if I stuck it in the little holder? I started experimenting. I probably looked silly, walking on the treadmill carrying my phone next to me. However, the step count was going up, up, up! I was winning!
I actually have no idea how accurate that count is. I also know that my phone really doesn't care how far I walk, or how many steps I take in a day. However, I still don't want my phone thinking I am lazy. I suppose if that gets me to move around more, then it's probably a good thing. So if you see my car parked at the very back of the parking lot, I'm doing one of two things: I'm parking under a tree to get the shade, or I'm showing my phone who the boss really is around here.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Lost Belongings
Kids, I love you. I really do. I am your mother and I want only the best for you. But I need you to understand something important before I send you out into the big, bad world: I am your mother, not your personal locator of lost belongings.
If you put something down and walked away and forgot where you left it, I don't know where it is, either. I don't have little nano-trackers on all your belongings. Our house is not some high tech abode where I can touch a screen and say "locate hairbrush!" or "find missing homework". I don't keep track of everything you own. I don't keep vigils over your technology to make sure it doesn't wander off in the wee hours of the morning. You are teenagers. It's your stuff. Keep track of it yourselves. If you lose something, oh well, that is a sad story. I'm doing well just to keep track of where all my stuff is; my brain is too occupied to keep track of all your stuff, too. Have mercy on me.
This especially applies to your LEGOS. You had better not lose any of those LEGOS, because if I find any of them by stepping on them with bare feet, the penalty will be severe. You have been forewarned. And while we are on the subject of LEGOS, Son of Never Stops Eating, I do not know where the fireman LEGO guy is that you had two weeks ago but can't find now. It could be under the seat in the car. Go look there.
What do you think will happen when you go out into the big world beyond and lose something? If you think I am going to drive from the house to wherever you are to help you find it, you are completely mistaken. You can call me on the phone and commiserate about whatever it is that is now lost, but in the end I'll tell you, in the nicest Mom way possible, that it is just a sad story. I feel so bad for you. I hope you find the missing object, whatever it is.
When you are little and you lose little kid stuff, it's hard enough. Just wait until you have your own kids, and you will find out what it's like. It can be annoying to lose a child's library book, confess to the library staff, pay for the book, and then find it a year later in a place it never occurred to you to look, like under the child's bed. Even worse, losing the lovey. Don't ever lose the blankie, or the stuffed bunny. You will do anything to find the lovey.
However, just wait until you lose something really important, like your college ID, or a paper you have worked really hard on. Or, your driver's license. Do not ever lose your driver's license. Now that I mention it, don't lose anything in your wallet. First of all, you would hate for some evildoer to find your credit cards or your ID and go on a spending spree while pretending to be you. Second, all that stuff is a total pain in the butt to replace. This is valuable wisdom I am imparting to you. Take heed.
Just in case you are thinking, oh, easy for you to talk, Mom of No, I bet you've never lost anything. That would be untrue. I misplaced my work ID once and I was in a total panic. Fortunately, I found it right where I left it, 5 minutes later. Whew.
I know you are good, responsible kids, soon to be adults. Keep track of your stuff. It's your responsibility, not your mom's, or your roommate's, or your partner's. I know you can do it. I have faith in you. Love, Mom.
If you put something down and walked away and forgot where you left it, I don't know where it is, either. I don't have little nano-trackers on all your belongings. Our house is not some high tech abode where I can touch a screen and say "locate hairbrush!" or "find missing homework". I don't keep track of everything you own. I don't keep vigils over your technology to make sure it doesn't wander off in the wee hours of the morning. You are teenagers. It's your stuff. Keep track of it yourselves. If you lose something, oh well, that is a sad story. I'm doing well just to keep track of where all my stuff is; my brain is too occupied to keep track of all your stuff, too. Have mercy on me.
This especially applies to your LEGOS. You had better not lose any of those LEGOS, because if I find any of them by stepping on them with bare feet, the penalty will be severe. You have been forewarned. And while we are on the subject of LEGOS, Son of Never Stops Eating, I do not know where the fireman LEGO guy is that you had two weeks ago but can't find now. It could be under the seat in the car. Go look there.
What do you think will happen when you go out into the big world beyond and lose something? If you think I am going to drive from the house to wherever you are to help you find it, you are completely mistaken. You can call me on the phone and commiserate about whatever it is that is now lost, but in the end I'll tell you, in the nicest Mom way possible, that it is just a sad story. I feel so bad for you. I hope you find the missing object, whatever it is.
When you are little and you lose little kid stuff, it's hard enough. Just wait until you have your own kids, and you will find out what it's like. It can be annoying to lose a child's library book, confess to the library staff, pay for the book, and then find it a year later in a place it never occurred to you to look, like under the child's bed. Even worse, losing the lovey. Don't ever lose the blankie, or the stuffed bunny. You will do anything to find the lovey.
However, just wait until you lose something really important, like your college ID, or a paper you have worked really hard on. Or, your driver's license. Do not ever lose your driver's license. Now that I mention it, don't lose anything in your wallet. First of all, you would hate for some evildoer to find your credit cards or your ID and go on a spending spree while pretending to be you. Second, all that stuff is a total pain in the butt to replace. This is valuable wisdom I am imparting to you. Take heed.
Just in case you are thinking, oh, easy for you to talk, Mom of No, I bet you've never lost anything. That would be untrue. I misplaced my work ID once and I was in a total panic. Fortunately, I found it right where I left it, 5 minutes later. Whew.
I know you are good, responsible kids, soon to be adults. Keep track of your stuff. It's your responsibility, not your mom's, or your roommate's, or your partner's. I know you can do it. I have faith in you. Love, Mom.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Just Go
The teenagers are out on Spring Break, so today I took a day off work and we went on a short road trip to a wildlife refuge I'd never been to, which is absolutely the Mom of No's idea of a great spring break activity. We had fun, even though it started raining the second we hit the trail. We did some hiking and some bird watching, and then went back to the visitor center to eat our lunch and dry off. At one point, I left the teenagers alone while I went to put the cooler back in the car, and when I came back in, my son was showing one of the volunteers his latest LEGO creation and having a perfectly competent conversation with an adult, something I once thought would never happen.
When I experience moments like that, sometimes I have flashbacks, because it wasn't always this easy. When I hear parents of young children on the autism spectrum talk about the difficulties of going out in public, that was me, years ago. Outings did not always go well. We got the stares and the comments, and on occasion, worse.
I once had a man cuss me out and call my son "retarded" because he didn't want my son near his children. I had taken the kids to a bounce house place so they could be entertained while I studied for a graduate class I was taking, and my son had misinterpreted some of the social cues of the other kids. It happens, and I had told the man I'd take care of it, but that wasn't good enough. He even informed me that if my husband had been there, they'd be having words in the parking lot. So yeah, not a successful outing.
It hurts to be on the receiving end of mean people. It makes you not ever want to go anywhere, ever again. Except, I had another kid. And I wanted to leave the house. And I needed my son to learn how to function in the world. Staying home was not an option. So we kept going.
Some experiences were more successful than others. We had conversations about not tossing toy cars off the second story balcony of the library, for example. But some experiences went surprising well. He fit right in as a hockey fan, and he discovered some favorite paintings at the art museum.
As he becomes more comfortable talking to people he doesn't know, we have had some interesting conversations about social conventions: Don't ask adults how old they are. Don't ask the (teenaged) checkout clerk at the sporting goods store how many kids he has. Don't ask people you have just met if they like or dislike certain political candidates. Meanwhile, internally, part of me is rejoicing that he's having conversations with people who aren't related to him and that he's willing and able to speak up for himself. Success!
The Mom of No is not in the advice-giving business, which is probably a good thing. However, when I see parents of young kids on the spectrum, I want to tell them, just go. Get outside. Leave the house. Try new things. Sometimes (often, at first) it will not go well. People might be nasty. You may have to leave earlier than you planned. You will cry. Some experiences will be unmitigated failures. But go anyway. You will have good surprises. For every hater, there are plenty of kind people. My son's life is full of people he likes and who like him, people we met because I took a deep breath, walked out the back door, got in the car, and went.
When I experience moments like that, sometimes I have flashbacks, because it wasn't always this easy. When I hear parents of young children on the autism spectrum talk about the difficulties of going out in public, that was me, years ago. Outings did not always go well. We got the stares and the comments, and on occasion, worse.
I once had a man cuss me out and call my son "retarded" because he didn't want my son near his children. I had taken the kids to a bounce house place so they could be entertained while I studied for a graduate class I was taking, and my son had misinterpreted some of the social cues of the other kids. It happens, and I had told the man I'd take care of it, but that wasn't good enough. He even informed me that if my husband had been there, they'd be having words in the parking lot. So yeah, not a successful outing.
It hurts to be on the receiving end of mean people. It makes you not ever want to go anywhere, ever again. Except, I had another kid. And I wanted to leave the house. And I needed my son to learn how to function in the world. Staying home was not an option. So we kept going.
Some experiences were more successful than others. We had conversations about not tossing toy cars off the second story balcony of the library, for example. But some experiences went surprising well. He fit right in as a hockey fan, and he discovered some favorite paintings at the art museum.
As he becomes more comfortable talking to people he doesn't know, we have had some interesting conversations about social conventions: Don't ask adults how old they are. Don't ask the (teenaged) checkout clerk at the sporting goods store how many kids he has. Don't ask people you have just met if they like or dislike certain political candidates. Meanwhile, internally, part of me is rejoicing that he's having conversations with people who aren't related to him and that he's willing and able to speak up for himself. Success!
The Mom of No is not in the advice-giving business, which is probably a good thing. However, when I see parents of young kids on the spectrum, I want to tell them, just go. Get outside. Leave the house. Try new things. Sometimes (often, at first) it will not go well. People might be nasty. You may have to leave earlier than you planned. You will cry. Some experiences will be unmitigated failures. But go anyway. You will have good surprises. For every hater, there are plenty of kind people. My son's life is full of people he likes and who like him, people we met because I took a deep breath, walked out the back door, got in the car, and went.
Sunday, March 6, 2016
What was I thinking?
For the last few weeks, I've been in a de-cluttering mode. In previous years, I've tried various methods, such as the "stuff it all in a container and hide it under the bed" technique, the "go to the Container Store and hope for inspiration" technique, and the "Hide it in the sunroom and shut the door" technique. Now, I'm pulling out all stops and going for the "if I don't use it, get rid of it" technique.
When I de-clutter, I sometimes find myself attempting to answer this one big question: What was I thinking when I bought this?
For example, last year I was cleaning out my pantry and I found a huge bottle of sriracha sauce. I know that sriracha sauce is popular, but I've never used it at home. I don't cook anything that calls for sriracha sauce. I certainly don't need a monster-sized bottle of it. When I was in the grocery store and put it in my cart, what thought process was I going through? I have no idea. Maybe I had it in mind to try a recipe, long since forgotten, that I'd read in a magazine. Maybe I had a coupon. Maybe I had absorbed some subliminal message that hip people stocked sriracha sauce in their pantries. I couldn't tell you.
Several years ago, I had a box filled with baby clothes that I'd put aside after the Son of Never Stops Eating was born. In that box was a baby sling, to be used to "wear your baby". I have no idea why I bought it. I know that people wear their babies with success, but this item looked brand-new. I don't recall ever using it. The teenager discovered mobility about 3 months after she was born, when she rolled over, and after that it became the fun game of "let's run away from Mommy and watch her panic!". My son was a huge kid from day one, and I'm fairly certain I never could have carried him in a wearable baby carrier and remained upright. So why did I buy it? Maybe I read an article online about how a good mother should wear her baby, and I wanted to be a good mother, so I went out and bought one, or I thought it would be good for mommy-baby bonding. However, it will forever remain a mystery. I will probably just chalk that one up to postpartum hormones.
So now, in the back of my closet, I have found a pair of peau-de-soie evening pumps. Let me tell you right now, the Mom of No does not have much need for peau-de-soie evening shoes. First, I don't wear heels. I'm already tall enough, and I have bunions. I like my shoes flat and comfortable. Second, I never go anywhere that would have a dress code that requires such footwear. I think I might have bought these shoes in college. Maybe I was thinking that I should have a pair just in case, because you never know when you will be invited to a gala, a movie premiere in Hollywood, or a presidential inauguration. Maybe it seemed like something an adult woman should own- yes, I am grown up now, I pay for my own car insurance and I own peau-de-soie pumps.
I put the pumps in the "get rid of pile". As soon as I did that, I started having angst. Suppose all of a sudden, an invitation arrived in the mail for a ball? I would need those shoes to go with the evening gown I don't own. I retrieved the shoes and put them on. The bunions and the knees started screaming in protest. No, even if I was invited somewhere like that, I would not be wearing those shoes. I put them back on the pile. Bye bye, peau-de-soie shoes.
When I de-clutter, I sometimes find myself attempting to answer this one big question: What was I thinking when I bought this?
For example, last year I was cleaning out my pantry and I found a huge bottle of sriracha sauce. I know that sriracha sauce is popular, but I've never used it at home. I don't cook anything that calls for sriracha sauce. I certainly don't need a monster-sized bottle of it. When I was in the grocery store and put it in my cart, what thought process was I going through? I have no idea. Maybe I had it in mind to try a recipe, long since forgotten, that I'd read in a magazine. Maybe I had a coupon. Maybe I had absorbed some subliminal message that hip people stocked sriracha sauce in their pantries. I couldn't tell you.
Several years ago, I had a box filled with baby clothes that I'd put aside after the Son of Never Stops Eating was born. In that box was a baby sling, to be used to "wear your baby". I have no idea why I bought it. I know that people wear their babies with success, but this item looked brand-new. I don't recall ever using it. The teenager discovered mobility about 3 months after she was born, when she rolled over, and after that it became the fun game of "let's run away from Mommy and watch her panic!". My son was a huge kid from day one, and I'm fairly certain I never could have carried him in a wearable baby carrier and remained upright. So why did I buy it? Maybe I read an article online about how a good mother should wear her baby, and I wanted to be a good mother, so I went out and bought one, or I thought it would be good for mommy-baby bonding. However, it will forever remain a mystery. I will probably just chalk that one up to postpartum hormones.
So now, in the back of my closet, I have found a pair of peau-de-soie evening pumps. Let me tell you right now, the Mom of No does not have much need for peau-de-soie evening shoes. First, I don't wear heels. I'm already tall enough, and I have bunions. I like my shoes flat and comfortable. Second, I never go anywhere that would have a dress code that requires such footwear. I think I might have bought these shoes in college. Maybe I was thinking that I should have a pair just in case, because you never know when you will be invited to a gala, a movie premiere in Hollywood, or a presidential inauguration. Maybe it seemed like something an adult woman should own- yes, I am grown up now, I pay for my own car insurance and I own peau-de-soie pumps.
I put the pumps in the "get rid of pile". As soon as I did that, I started having angst. Suppose all of a sudden, an invitation arrived in the mail for a ball? I would need those shoes to go with the evening gown I don't own. I retrieved the shoes and put them on. The bunions and the knees started screaming in protest. No, even if I was invited somewhere like that, I would not be wearing those shoes. I put them back on the pile. Bye bye, peau-de-soie shoes.
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Bad iPhone Bird Photography
American White Pelican
(Pelecanus erythrorhynchos)
My son and I have been spending a lot of time lately watching these pelicans. They've been hanging out at a nature preserve near our house. I don't anticipate they'll be there much longer so we're enjoying the show while we can.
I've been working with the trick of taking photographs with an iPhone held up to a pair of binoculars. It works sometimes, but most of the time the bird is gone before you get the phone lined up. However, these pelicans are happy to just sit and drift on the water, looking for fish.
I spend a lot of time on nature pages and websites, and often when people post pictures, they feel compelled to apologize for the quality. I think they should stop apologizing. The natural world is full of wonders. No one should apologize for wanting to share their joy of it with others, even if the pictures aren't the best. I know my iPhone pictures aren't the greatest, but for me it's about the process. I love watching these pelicans. I love that my son is excited about watching these pelicans. We're outside. We're laughing.
I've had people tell me that they'd like to take their kids hiking more, or go outside more, but they don't know anything about nature, or hiking, or birds, or trees. But it's about the process. Find a local trail, get a bottle of water, sunscreen, bug spray, put on some closed-toe shoes, and look up a few pictures of poison ivy so you know to avoid it. Get going; wonders await. I don't know everything, either. I say the phrase "I don't know what that is" a lot. And that is absolutely fine. If you've ever seen naturalists argue over what a certain kind of fungus, bird or plant is, you soon realize no one knows everything. Bit by bit, you start adding to your knowledge- one day, it's a red bird and the next day, it's a male cardinal.
PS- the first time I saw this bird, I had no idea what it was, except that it had to be some kind of pelican. Thank you, iPhone bird ID app.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Learner Permit
A momentous occasion is about to happen in the Mom of No household: the teenager is about to get a learner's permit. If you know where I live, you have been warned.
I was telling the Grandpa of No that this was about to happen, and he told me that he was going to give me some useful advice. His advice was this: when I take her driving for the first time, I should go to a church parking lot. I assumed it was because there would be wide open spaces and plenty of room to practice parking, but he said it was so that we'd be closer to God in case something bad happened.
OK, well, thanks for that. I think.
Apparently, a great deal has changed since I got my learner's permit back in the olden days. I vaguely remember taking a class at school, and getting a permit, and then spending a lot of time with my father (probably in a church parking lot) listening to him go "Stop! I said STOP! Don't go that fast! Quit putting your foot on the brake! What are you trying to do, kill me?". Now there is driving school, which I am totally fine with, and a lot of paperwork.
Ever since I went to go get my own driver's license renewed a few years ago and found out after waiting in line for two hours (because I didn't read the directions; I ass-u-me-d that already having a current driver's license was sufficient) that I needed a pile of not readily accessible paperwork to prove who I was and where I was born, the idea of going to the DMV raises my blood pressure. I went to the website to see what kind of documentation we'd need to bring, and most of it was stuff I'd never heard of, or the sort of thing a teenager wouldn't have, like military records or a boat registration title, or a federal inmate ID card.
This can't be that hard, I said to a co-worker. It's not like I'm buying a house. Fifteen year olds get learner's permits every day. Clearly I'm not reading this information correctly. You could always just call them and ask, he said. No, I said. I'm sure I can figure it out. I don't want to be on hold for an hour simply to admit I can't figure out this information. Besides, that's what Facebook is for. I can just ask other parents.
Then I pulled up the state driver's handbook, because I wanted to review it. I've been driving a long time, and I know I am guilty of bad driving habits that I don't want to pass on to the teenager. It's important to be a good role model. The handbook was full of useful nuggets of information about taking your driving test and driving rules.
For example, if you are taking your driving test, and you crash, that's it. End of test. Even if the crash wasn't your fault. It would really suck if you were just driving along, doing really well, passing the test, feeling pretty good about the whole thing, and all of a sudden some completely oblivious driver runs a red light while texting and wham! No license for you.
Also, if you are temporarily driving an implement of husbandry on a roadway, you don't need a license. You should not park on a sidewalk or a bridge. On a road divided into three or more lanes providing for one way movement, a vehicle entering a lane of traffic from the right must yield the right of way to a vehicle entering the same lane of traffic from the left. So it's not supposed to be the free-for-all it looks like in real life.
I think I am ready to take this on. All we need is a bunch of paperwork and a church parking lot.
I was telling the Grandpa of No that this was about to happen, and he told me that he was going to give me some useful advice. His advice was this: when I take her driving for the first time, I should go to a church parking lot. I assumed it was because there would be wide open spaces and plenty of room to practice parking, but he said it was so that we'd be closer to God in case something bad happened.
OK, well, thanks for that. I think.
Apparently, a great deal has changed since I got my learner's permit back in the olden days. I vaguely remember taking a class at school, and getting a permit, and then spending a lot of time with my father (probably in a church parking lot) listening to him go "Stop! I said STOP! Don't go that fast! Quit putting your foot on the brake! What are you trying to do, kill me?". Now there is driving school, which I am totally fine with, and a lot of paperwork.
Ever since I went to go get my own driver's license renewed a few years ago and found out after waiting in line for two hours (because I didn't read the directions; I ass-u-me-d that already having a current driver's license was sufficient) that I needed a pile of not readily accessible paperwork to prove who I was and where I was born, the idea of going to the DMV raises my blood pressure. I went to the website to see what kind of documentation we'd need to bring, and most of it was stuff I'd never heard of, or the sort of thing a teenager wouldn't have, like military records or a boat registration title, or a federal inmate ID card.
This can't be that hard, I said to a co-worker. It's not like I'm buying a house. Fifteen year olds get learner's permits every day. Clearly I'm not reading this information correctly. You could always just call them and ask, he said. No, I said. I'm sure I can figure it out. I don't want to be on hold for an hour simply to admit I can't figure out this information. Besides, that's what Facebook is for. I can just ask other parents.
Then I pulled up the state driver's handbook, because I wanted to review it. I've been driving a long time, and I know I am guilty of bad driving habits that I don't want to pass on to the teenager. It's important to be a good role model. The handbook was full of useful nuggets of information about taking your driving test and driving rules.
For example, if you are taking your driving test, and you crash, that's it. End of test. Even if the crash wasn't your fault. It would really suck if you were just driving along, doing really well, passing the test, feeling pretty good about the whole thing, and all of a sudden some completely oblivious driver runs a red light while texting and wham! No license for you.
Also, if you are temporarily driving an implement of husbandry on a roadway, you don't need a license. You should not park on a sidewalk or a bridge. On a road divided into three or more lanes providing for one way movement, a vehicle entering a lane of traffic from the right must yield the right of way to a vehicle entering the same lane of traffic from the left. So it's not supposed to be the free-for-all it looks like in real life.
I think I am ready to take this on. All we need is a bunch of paperwork and a church parking lot.
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