April was not my favorite month, as months go. The weather was crazy. It’s cold, it’s hot. It’s hot, it’s cold. And just for fun, let’s throw in some nasty thunderstorms that have the potential for tornadoes. I’m an Autism Mama, I already have nutty sleep patterns. I don’t need potential anything addin’ to it, y’all. I stayed up all night watchin’ the news. In my particular area I think we got lucky. By the grace of God. It looks like this year’s Tornado Season may be a rough one.
In other news, we also started testing Bub for Autism. I’m pretty sure that’s gonna be a whole other post right there. But honestly? I’m just not quite ready to write it. I’m just not.
We did start our garden though! Seven tomato plants, people. Seven. I am determined to have some ‘maters this year. Even if it kills me dead. And…I think I may have solved my Tomato Worm Dilema. Word on the street is DILL. Yep, I planted Dill in between all my tomatoes to discourage those dern worms. We’ll see if it works. Dern worms.
For some ridiculous reason I still get nervous when it comes to Nub’ s IEP. Yep, it’s that time of year again. The dreaded IEP. But honestly? His team and school freaking rock. His soon-to-be 5th grade teacher has already requested he be in her class. Like back in the Fall. Seriously. He is beloved by the staff at his school, and most of his class. It helps tremendously in fostering his sense of confidence in his surroundings.
That having been said, he only has one more year there. And then we move on to middle school. I think perhaps the one saving grace is that all the children from his elementary school will also move up with him. Other than that? Unchartered waters, y’all. I know one sixth grade teacher. That’s it. One.
We don’t do well with change. Or transitions. I’ve started talking to him about it because anytime ANYTHING changes in his routine it’s best to begin talking about said change as soon as possible. And as often as possible. During the academic year they have Math/Science Nights at the middle school and I think that might help him to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. I’ll do whatever it takes. I am Mama, hear me roar and all that.
I’m also slightly worried about whether he’ll continue to be mainstream, with a para or classified as special ed. He’s unbelievably smart and he needs to be challenged constantly. I worry they won’t be prepared enough for him. And I’m worried about Common Core and how that will affect him. I have a list of questions a mile long, y’all. At least. I’m going into this meeting as prepared as I can possibly be. It’s my job. If I don’t advocate for my son, who will?
I got this, y’all. Just sayin’…
Our weather has been rather interesting this Winter. To say the least. I’ve been so excited that Spring is almost upon us(tomorrow!) and I’ve been planning my garden like a fiend. What plants I want, ways of dealing with common garden pests(Yes, I’m looking right at you tomato worms. You’re going down this year. Down, I say!), combinations of vegetables to plant together, etc. It’s basically what has kept me sane during all this cold ass weather and the resulting craziness of three boys stuck inside the house.
So with all that having been said, guess who saw a reputable meteorologist mention the possibility of the “S” word for next week? You have gotta be kidding me. It’s Spring(tomorrow!). Say it with me, Spring. That means flowers and yard work. Not snow and colder weather. That’s Winter. Which it most certainly is not.
Mother Nature, you are drunk. Get it together, sistah.
Not a lot of posts in the ol’ February, eh? Yeah, me neither. At first I kind of got all sucked into the Winter Olympics. Until I noticed the terrible coverage. And that the lovely media didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about NOT divulging the FREAKING results. Seriously. So annoying. Plus, the courses seemed to be causing some issues amongst the athletes. It was just really disjointed to me. And not at all the embodiment of what I feel the Olympics truly stand for. So disappointed, y’all.
And then there was the bidness of every day life. The hubs is back in school. It snowed. Twice. Which threw my poor state into utter chaos because we don’t really do snow. And ice. The ice was prolly the worst part. It was just a hot ass mess. Add in a power outage and a kid with Autism? Good times. Add in two more children and both adults? We’re lucky it didn’t turn into The Shining up in here. Sheesh.
All in all? Yeah, I’m ready for March. This cold weather is for the birds. C’mon Spring!
I really, really, REALLY need to remember this little jewel.
Because honestly? Some of you people out there are nuttier than a fruitcake. And so not in the fun Dharma-esque way. Which is the epitome of ridiculousness when you consider the fact that we are all middle aged. But whatevs.
Imma be all not my circus, not my monkeys, man…
See what I did there?
Today was my very first experience with the Pinewood Derby. It was interesting, to say the least. Lots of build-up and tons of excitement. Adults included! Let’s not forget about the cake either. You know how I feels about the cake…but that’s neither here nor there. The real story lies in the derby cars themselves. Or should I say the father’s of the boy’s who had derby cars? You be the judge…
My understanding of the theory behind the Pinewood Derby is a bonding experience between parent and child. A fun experience with your chirrens. But, and you knew there had to be one. The kids are supposed to do the majority of the work themselves. Should I repeat that? THE KIDS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO THE MAJORITY OF THE WORK THEMSELVES.
Wanna guess where this is going? Yeah. It ain’t pretty. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as competitive as they come. But this is for the kids! When you bring in your “son’s” car and go through registration and weigh in, and then bring it to the table where it will sit under my watchful eye(untouched by anyone!) and then actually have the gall to ask me if it really has to stay on the table because you worked so hard on it. C’mon, man. Really? Every single adult in that gym knew that your son had nothing to do with that car. Which is really sad because there’s an adult category. Seriously.
What are you teaching your children? You have to win no matter what? If you can’t do something, don’t worry, Dad will? Good job. I suppose you expect them to always get a trophy too, eh? Too bad that isn’t how it works in the real world. You are setting your children up for failure. And for what? A plastic trophy?
I guess I must be crazy. My children came up with their designs and their dad and grandpa cut them out. They sanded them. They painted them, with very little help from me. Were they perfect in every way? Not even close. Did they win any trophies? Nope. Not a one. Did they have the best day ever(their words!)? Damn skippy they did. And that means more to me than any trophy or award.
Which is the entire point.
Very rarely do I ever wish to revert back to childhood and those carefree days where my biggest worry involved getting the newest Barbie. Except for days like today. Days where you discover the parent of one of your dearest friends unexpectedly passed away. And you are just gobsmacked with grief and sorrow.
Days like this? Blow. Because you have to do grown up things like call his wife and say all those meaningless words you say when someone you love dies. I hate that. I never feel like I say the right things, but I say them anyway. I feel like it’s maybe not quite so much what you say, just that you’re saying it. And listening to them talk about their grief. Just being there. In that moment, with them.
The viewing is tonight and my husband is paying our respects on his way to work. The funeral is in the morning and I’ve already made arrangements to drop Bub off at his grandparents so I can attend the funeral. Because that’s also part of being a grown up. My least favorite part. But that’s what you do. You pay your respects and show your love and support for the family.
And I have a lot of love and respect for this family. So I will be there. Because it isn’t really about me anyway. Even though it’s hard and I’d much rather be worrying about the newest Barbie.