tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36036804073417252082024-03-05T03:09:33.220-08:00MomnariA new mother's candid journey through parenthood.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-54204043936705276822017-03-19T18:02:00.003-07:002017-03-19T18:02:27.755-07:00Nonverbal AutismIt has been a while since my last update regarding Jude and where we stand with his autism. Jude is still nonverbal but has begun communicating his wants and needs via PECS, a pictorial exchange system that encourages interaction and communication. Right now this is his preferred method of communication and we're thrilled with it.<br /><br />Before PECS Jude was frustrated a lot. Being unable to express himself to everyone was the cause of most of his meltdowns. While I could interpret his body language well enough to know what he wanted or needed most of the time, there were still times I couldn't -- and no one else ever could. Now he can say what he wants when he wants to using his PECS book and that's been an amazing experience.<br /><br />He attends an ASD preschool 5 days a week where he gets speech and occupational therapy two times a week and specialized PE once a week. The program is founded on positive enforcement, so he won't go through the same things I did as a kid. He also gets the benefit of socializing with kids his own age, both with ASD in the classroom and without on the playground. He takes a bus to and from school and his separation anxiety is much, much better.<br /><br />All in all school has been a great help for him and I would absolutely recommend a specialized ASD preschool for all autistic children. Early assistance is key to avoiding frustration and discouragement.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-19965377897799759292017-03-19T17:53:00.000-07:002017-03-19T17:53:10.757-07:00PECS: How It Works<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rLyGTVLaKaRpQkd8_4yD2lgEzk-RUXLY2DJWUn1mzX1PITdAy4D2gR62eO2mCMngjqwUlh6KPj-_NxwRWH9WMVZqeE-7or03Wfun8YW7E3B1GtsI87DqMIcpCceuXfgFoXe6-qlLk614/s1600/pecs1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rLyGTVLaKaRpQkd8_4yD2lgEzk-RUXLY2DJWUn1mzX1PITdAy4D2gR62eO2mCMngjqwUlh6KPj-_NxwRWH9WMVZqeE-7or03Wfun8YW7E3B1GtsI87DqMIcpCceuXfgFoXe6-qlLk614/s400/pecs1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Jude's PECS book. Page 1 has preferred items and activities.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Al4BqNv2isTlm3KkDP060v9QUMlwU4rHepI2fsSF2Nzngd75XDDx5J6weicB7IKn-McSsHEkPNzJaJXZ8Ce-yvu8i7YOc7Mt_PXXhs-dGR7ZN4TJ4NBqVg1e5bDFiOw3hgfLQC7DrX8Q/s1600/pecs2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Al4BqNv2isTlm3KkDP060v9QUMlwU4rHepI2fsSF2Nzngd75XDDx5J6weicB7IKn-McSsHEkPNzJaJXZ8Ce-yvu8i7YOc7Mt_PXXhs-dGR7ZN4TJ4NBqVg1e5bDFiOw3hgfLQC7DrX8Q/s400/pecs2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Page 2 has family members, TV shows, actions, and food choices.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjSnJ-OMkKAMPGpZqT3GGHTFow3RauwMn10Nk866-uF2b3dFaRr34WusBHuyRqdHU600KvcRT1UCmLZ_sZfPhmI8wtpUV8W_Cy52_j8doRsoA5NbFMUzB45vX0DUrZZ2JeaQONm_O6WT7/s1600/pecs3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjSnJ-OMkKAMPGpZqT3GGHTFow3RauwMn10Nk866-uF2b3dFaRr34WusBHuyRqdHU600KvcRT1UCmLZ_sZfPhmI8wtpUV8W_Cy52_j8doRsoA5NbFMUzB45vX0DUrZZ2JeaQONm_O6WT7/s400/pecs3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Page 3 mostly contains activities but also the names of his favorite books.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVVDyTc2rFcJbzLXEROolngYnHf_TbqV3xbMPO_r1EsbhuRB27VEFlyQNOX4fSrwTVxi0c3TXjGlqlpYDGS2_AvUVpKO407lr4t4C0wGJEfygyEo8Rm86eu3d30iNCoNaeDBD3metwy0u/s1600/pecs4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVVDyTc2rFcJbzLXEROolngYnHf_TbqV3xbMPO_r1EsbhuRB27VEFlyQNOX4fSrwTVxi0c3TXjGlqlpYDGS2_AvUVpKO407lr4t4C0wGJEfygyEo8Rm86eu3d30iNCoNaeDBD3metwy0u/s400/pecs4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here you see the icon for "I" has been moved into the sentence area.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtgIa9sD4EkYZ151bzbS6v85_h2tnstwYhdi0Zp1dmDrViaJ-cP9Dut1fGH4RQHuLT5VykWPBY4G2yp8XD6VAKMANIrDzFvrE5Wfj09x0jpX0eZnR9vX8uZWkZPmvMs1LljeDX6BouBy8/s1600/pecs5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdtgIa9sD4EkYZ151bzbS6v85_h2tnstwYhdi0Zp1dmDrViaJ-cP9Dut1fGH4RQHuLT5VykWPBY4G2yp8XD6VAKMANIrDzFvrE5Wfj09x0jpX0eZnR9vX8uZWkZPmvMs1LljeDX6BouBy8/s400/pecs5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Official icons are attached to the pages via velcro strips.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72Ml-HtgNI6KYh6OskW9pqFPHY0jwUe7dKEaEauFio-t3A_35WmSgat_VI45hi4Nqt4Jc_MI_nZqgpAWP33yLZKJ8mYNkqy_a1dmUUrz5cxVp9hzJf3BqSe1nsXSxm4SAuc9-rIkzgqza/s1600/pecs6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72Ml-HtgNI6KYh6OskW9pqFPHY0jwUe7dKEaEauFio-t3A_35WmSgat_VI45hi4Nqt4Jc_MI_nZqgpAWP33yLZKJ8mYNkqy_a1dmUUrz5cxVp9hzJf3BqSe1nsXSxm4SAuc9-rIkzgqza/s400/pecs6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here you can see a homemade icon I've created for a specific snack.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGUTMPIuIo2d_0sfiB5QkCm3GEWC_0l9RYrqH2olubW5iXkgvH2eOvGTuk8dUVvQIpKIPVStqW7TQ6Xno7Z7iRfn_SmE3T2HkCoJTw4OcTuBXmY9xNBDUna_65GJUlXESYkAoGVRvwdAy/s1600/pecs7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGUTMPIuIo2d_0sfiB5QkCm3GEWC_0l9RYrqH2olubW5iXkgvH2eOvGTuk8dUVvQIpKIPVStqW7TQ6Xno7Z7iRfn_SmE3T2HkCoJTw4OcTuBXmY9xNBDUna_65GJUlXESYkAoGVRvwdAy/s400/pecs7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here icons have been moved to the sentence area to form a request.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDasOdrlohR7EcsbkXgQSDc-bZPjOxJsz9q7IOBN_fn3jSV6BurFLkhsM4z1OnITR_43f85kgfCQ2Q5Q4PUNsKEDx29l424bczKVyhmGc_cvQHhyphenhyphenUddYaEYTqNyyj4Eithhfd-228EzJiO/s1600/pecs8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDasOdrlohR7EcsbkXgQSDc-bZPjOxJsz9q7IOBN_fn3jSV6BurFLkhsM4z1OnITR_43f85kgfCQ2Q5Q4PUNsKEDx29l424bczKVyhmGc_cvQHhyphenhyphenUddYaEYTqNyyj4Eithhfd-228EzJiO/s400/pecs8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sentence area detaches so that it can be brought to someone to fulfill.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCB3JgefR9faKj7L6INoKgzBSDAhNY1CjLqzJM6LGrszCOZPItOrCSWFfN4lZ2EmNwfiGvkORtqlHnkZgTBy572mY9oINBd5WW2-OzEX120RI6lazbVX6DIM5KFA_H_Vkn7Omtv4fO02G/s1600/pecs9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCB3JgefR9faKj7L6INoKgzBSDAhNY1CjLqzJM6LGrszCOZPItOrCSWFfN4lZ2EmNwfiGvkORtqlHnkZgTBy572mY9oINBd5WW2-OzEX120RI6lazbVX6DIM5KFA_H_Vkn7Omtv4fO02G/s400/pecs9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here the request reads, "I want Cheerios." </td></tr>
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<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-52964374643901346382016-08-01T14:55:00.000-07:002016-08-01T14:55:17.589-07:00Advice from People With Neurotypical ChildrenI get a lot of "mommy" advice from parents with neurotypical children that simply cannot apply to my Autistic, nonverbal son. They simply do not get, and even with repeated explaining, cannot get that my child could be so different from theirs. However that is the reality of Autism. I'm sorry, but <i>my child is not like yours. </i>I know you mean well but acting like I am wrong or narrow minded when I turn away your advice is hurtful, honestly. To both me and my child.<br /><br />The reason I keep trying to point out the glaring differences between my kid and yours isn't to make up excuses not to do x, y, or z but to try to get you to realize these differences and hopefully get them to influence your future advice. Because I know the advice will never stop, you want to help -- but you have to consider your target audience.<br /><br />I know my child. Even without words I know what he wants or needs 100% of the time. I'm never confused by his body language or facial expression. Never. You need to remember, I am Autistic too. I get it in an intimate way. I've invested <i>all</i> of my time and energy into understanding him. I know his needs and his capabilities where they are at right now. I know what will help him and what will hurt him and to be frank: I'm sorry but a lot of your advice would make him absolutely miserable.<br /><br />School break?<br />"Take him to a water park! He can splash and play!"<br />"Take him to the State Fair! He's love the rides!"<br />"Take him to the movies! That new Kid's movie is out!!!"<br />"Take him to this festival, there's live music and fried food!"<br />"Take him the library, they read books to kids his age every ___!"<br /><br />Okay. First things first, one almost universal thing among Autistic people is disliking crowds (read: contact with strangers). So with just that alone all of these things are out. He would hate them all. Too many people. He would get overstimulated and anxious in the parking lot before we even paid admission. C'mon.<br /><br />But just for clarity, let's really break it down for my specific Autistic kid.<br /><br /><b>Water Park</b><br />The biggest issue is that my child has a major sensory aversion to wet things. It's something they have reported on repeatedly at his school. It's something I witness at home every time we try to paint or wash his hands, feed him soft foods, or have a bath. He enjoys a bath and the pool but only if he is absolutely in control of all of the water at all times and it doesn't go above his tush (rinsing and washing his hair is a battle of wills). If you add a bunch of splashing and waves and a big crowd and lots of noise... he would absolutely 100% have a meltdown.<br /><br /><b>State Fair</b><br />The biggest issue is the sheer amount of people who attend the State Fair. You are nonstop shoulder to shoulder with strangers no matter where you go. Even in the restrooms waiting for a stall. Even at the tables where you sit to have lunch. Even in the grass if you need to take a break. The furthest stranger is no more than a foot from you at any given moment. With his aversion to being touched (by anyone other than immediate family), his aversion to crowds, his aversion to loud noise, and his aversion to strangers... he would absolutely 100% have a meltdown.<br /><br /><b>The Movies</b><br />My son is full of energy. Rare is it that he ever actually sits down. It takes me an hour to get him to hold still long enough to fall asleep at night. Trying to convince him to sit for an entire hour is just not going to ever happen and the more you pushed it, the more upset he'd get. Whether Nemo is on the screen or not won't matter. Add in the darkness, the loudness, and the crowd and -- you guessed it... he would absolutely 100% have a meltdown.<br /><br /><b>Music/Food/Whatever Festivals</b><br />A. Crowds. B. Loud. C. Long travel times. My son gets ridiculously car sick if he is in the car for anything more than thirty minutes. 100% of the time, whether the road was straight or curvy, bumpy or not, he's thrown up and been miserable after 30 minutes in the car every time it's ever happened. Every single time. So while I would love to see that International Potato Festival in the middle of no where, it's unrealistic to even try because not only would he puke in the car... he would absolutely 100% have a meltdown once we finally got him there.<br /><br />P.S. He won't eat anything there. I don't care how world renown that food truck is.<br /><br /><b>Library Circle Time</b><br />This is actually the one thing that might happen... sort of. He would mind it the least, certainly. The crowd being mostly children around his age and small enough to fit in the library would help. He would have absolutely 0 interest in sitting with them or listening to the story though. In all likelihood he would roam the library touching book spines and singing to himself, which I don't need to wake him up early on the second random whatever of the month for. I could just take him to the library at any time and let him run around (though in my experience librarians do not appreciate this at all).<br /><br />In summary if it is a longer drive from where we live than 20 minutes, will have a crowd larger than 10 people, and requires him to sit down and/or pay attention, it's going to result in him having a meltdown and he really doesn't need that stress. <br /><br />"Just let him have a tantrum, he'll get over it! My kids usually had a tantrum when we'd first go out but wound up loving it later!"<br /><br />No, he won't. Unless he is removed from the stress, he will just get exponentially more miserable. The effects of a meltdown can been felt/seen for days after the initial trigger. I'm not going to put him through that so you can feel good about me having taken your advice. He is, again, nothing like your neurotypical child in anything but species. He has unique needs that you <i><b><u>NEED</u></b></i> to understand, for his sake.<br /><br />I would love to do more of these types of things with him, but he is not quite ready for that yet and that is fine. Forcing him won't help. He'll get there. In the meanwhile, we'll be enjoying our sidewalk chalk, kiddie pool in the yard, games of tag, dance parties to Bjork, and walks through the neighborhood he's familiar with.<br /><br />Now, I know you mean well, so here are some things he <i>does</i> love that are feasible you can work with when trying to suggest fun family outings to us because more than anything I want this post to be <i>constructive criticism</i> so that people can offer helpful advice to parents of Autistic children: produce (yes, fruits and vegetables), cats, friendly dogs, shapes, running, jumping, small crowds of similarly aged children, sand, Sesame Street, trees, bouncing balls, bubbles.<br /><br />Example suggestion:<br /><b>Local Farmer's Market</b><br />Pros: Lots of fruits and vegetables! He won't eat any, but he loves to handle and explore the shapes of them. Relatively quiet. Might be in a park with lots of space to roam and trees to touch. Also it's free.<br />Cons: Crowd may cause an issue even though it's generally small. Not a confined space, so may wander away from the 'attraction' entirely.<br /><br />Example suggestion:<br /><b>McDonald's Playplace</b><br />Pros: Small groups of children. A contained space. Brightly colored. Lots of centralized activities he can take part in or simply laugh and watch others take part in. Cost of a drink or french fry to get in.<br />Cons: Can be loud. Kids may be much older and bigger than him. <br /><br />Please remember, there's nothing wrong with offering advice and I do always appreciate the sentiment. However it is vital for his health and my sanity that the advice cater to his unique requirements. I know you only want him (or the Autistic child in your life) to have a good time, so let's aim for that together. Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-23379308146807845682015-10-18T20:52:00.001-07:002015-10-18T20:52:30.672-07:00Musical BabyOne of Jude's favorite songs since forever is Twinkle Twinkle. I sing it, he sings it. For his birthday we got him a glockenspiel. Mostly he just bangs on the bars but the other day he actually played the first line of Twinkle Twinkle. I did not show him this, Aaron did not show him this. He figured out the notes and played it by ear.<br /><br />Maybe his middle name should have been Mozart. Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-29340341762309789072015-10-11T15:13:00.000-07:002015-10-16T15:13:55.680-07:00Three Years Old!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODPnq-wdY7Gp0CTa3f933Z92eDcxAvZwLRlmAeNPI_rXxgeGeicHlbtByDRVZrxV57dsLTJJRAdAM103sIVPECnnGQFgfX-eOumRZLmsJ7kbJBnav9HpFKPNoXs0eHITn90oKB-FpcnNy/s1600/bday1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODPnq-wdY7Gp0CTa3f933Z92eDcxAvZwLRlmAeNPI_rXxgeGeicHlbtByDRVZrxV57dsLTJJRAdAM103sIVPECnnGQFgfX-eOumRZLmsJ7kbJBnav9HpFKPNoXs0eHITn90oKB-FpcnNy/s400/bday1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gifts!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Jex_3OgBUqIZtaPLBFOe0xGDjMKvebKrs3aJ0GARUqEw8QUJ37NpK6LFBevYsQ4IR45lTUoWkFT2AKsQIOUqqCmnpGpUQRefbcsStioritAjOj1fTRddqAUl26QxmyRycV-8-Ls_xDnR/s1600/bday2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Jex_3OgBUqIZtaPLBFOe0xGDjMKvebKrs3aJ0GARUqEw8QUJ37NpK6LFBevYsQ4IR45lTUoWkFT2AKsQIOUqqCmnpGpUQRefbcsStioritAjOj1fTRddqAUl26QxmyRycV-8-Ls_xDnR/s400/bday2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New friends</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gak0pDdl4QY91yQTAyeDnEXxlbLvyC6KgSD46MEO4RcrAaj_Hl17FGrQT9DWPXIykyao9YY6FAy3GnPQD7lGZfZgHLU-eWnryl8s0Xjjpquy4ZxrvFScl34thc7p_HW__J2OkHKJHV1r/s1600/bday3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6gak0pDdl4QY91yQTAyeDnEXxlbLvyC6KgSD46MEO4RcrAaj_Hl17FGrQT9DWPXIykyao9YY6FAy3GnPQD7lGZfZgHLU-eWnryl8s0Xjjpquy4ZxrvFScl34thc7p_HW__J2OkHKJHV1r/s640/bday3.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His birthday cake, yum.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgwZyeQoeJFw1AMg6gTM3Kr_dq_drDOhrxtm17srRWGhubywecCjsnu5MN6rswS6AcLG1aQx3IQ-yhnwsuH0idAznguVvozsmnN-Y_Kg-wJV5i9mlj97wmgzCEANDTi8eN3QhurAsqSpl/s1600/bday4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgwZyeQoeJFw1AMg6gTM3Kr_dq_drDOhrxtm17srRWGhubywecCjsnu5MN6rswS6AcLG1aQx3IQ-yhnwsuH0idAznguVvozsmnN-Y_Kg-wJV5i9mlj97wmgzCEANDTi8eN3QhurAsqSpl/s400/bday4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday smiles!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnoY-QJoYNITByMmYiWz1yMVaaRccVoeaxGZD-hw8m2ttj6ffMyRKfFAWrbicbHaeEEUp4AFLvScT3QS70MSFrLsw2ODqSITZpPyjmOykWDENbwkG0rDwvoh4O5nVX-y2H89oyiPJ75U5/s1600/bday13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnoY-QJoYNITByMmYiWz1yMVaaRccVoeaxGZD-hw8m2ttj6ffMyRKfFAWrbicbHaeEEUp4AFLvScT3QS70MSFrLsw2ODqSITZpPyjmOykWDENbwkG0rDwvoh4O5nVX-y2H89oyiPJ75U5/s640/bday13.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Duplo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEoEgtbc4Kx2xrZK7F3_1RumPiR6s0BQlG3CBt5kKwu2BJkp6azSTVTRgUgpI4wt4vbKkJ48bfwthUSlAaLmLaGeQm7MZTvodqvYqNWQnbkD5iuMIXF-Nk3dOWW3JfmZQMZiBZIZqVI9h/s1600/bday5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEoEgtbc4Kx2xrZK7F3_1RumPiR6s0BQlG3CBt5kKwu2BJkp6azSTVTRgUgpI4wt4vbKkJ48bfwthUSlAaLmLaGeQm7MZTvodqvYqNWQnbkD5iuMIXF-Nk3dOWW3JfmZQMZiBZIZqVI9h/s400/bday5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He got the hang of it quick!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKO-BDUUByFA7_vYYKYvHtb-p_wogJxmJntKBpyNqllTzHr6B47Kuj0axeLWIiLkqLJgTMIzGdH5lKL2JSxCPHbzGyzASI-0Zg9G4IdRyYj7ESBd8JPLHF65kfLR93Z_Ze3yyS8HkU1mwU/s1600/bday14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKO-BDUUByFA7_vYYKYvHtb-p_wogJxmJntKBpyNqllTzHr6B47Kuj0axeLWIiLkqLJgTMIzGdH5lKL2JSxCPHbzGyzASI-0Zg9G4IdRyYj7ESBd8JPLHF65kfLR93Z_Ze3yyS8HkU1mwU/s400/bday14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His own clock.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZsuUpkHAoEu3-SD7ABdSa6CwLEss48WrWAMN7TMTSwiOX5uq3fgJiOmdwqqaYmRdtHFZUW9TDPkK8QQwGprz_mi-4PJDcfTwDdxY7jvop9Of3xrSi87sUL9BLMxwD1t3t0rfWWx6t_Q1/s1600/bday11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZsuUpkHAoEu3-SD7ABdSa6CwLEss48WrWAMN7TMTSwiOX5uq3fgJiOmdwqqaYmRdtHFZUW9TDPkK8QQwGprz_mi-4PJDcfTwDdxY7jvop9Of3xrSi87sUL9BLMxwD1t3t0rfWWx6t_Q1/s400/bday11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A gator glockenspiel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGXM4YKNVYp0jJUxbhf9h8lNR8VH62nrcBX4Inh6eXyBctoEzsAE8I84lTiUAW9QPTTbFudD7rk8ZQkAboIKJiUEv4_gyNMs3RfEdpv8dAD1pdYHQlCe1C72-iYlTzZmpBnZLM2s-0I3p/s1600/bday12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGXM4YKNVYp0jJUxbhf9h8lNR8VH62nrcBX4Inh6eXyBctoEzsAE8I84lTiUAW9QPTTbFudD7rk8ZQkAboIKJiUEv4_gyNMs3RfEdpv8dAD1pdYHQlCe1C72-iYlTzZmpBnZLM2s-0I3p/s400/bday12.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think he loves him!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvz3R6L_86M9kylQMIc_4nTg9pnmYT2C0keQRJTAMbuxpSJ1F1-NUQQMsgyVPAmvvaPUl3210B6LcibJT3V8P2TPY1oNh6ixNA9MJ8gcI7w8sR06v81azGnYBg0YQCQ4uV04CKoKdFrYDu/s1600/bday6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvz3R6L_86M9kylQMIc_4nTg9pnmYT2C0keQRJTAMbuxpSJ1F1-NUQQMsgyVPAmvvaPUl3210B6LcibJT3V8P2TPY1oNh6ixNA9MJ8gcI7w8sR06v81azGnYBg0YQCQ4uV04CKoKdFrYDu/s640/bday6.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny Tuxedo Mask</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_J05MQ1DxHZ4a-rMWYNF47Z_Y-sZ6HdbutrJSSrsnOxkJlUeNLL_sd2rTulErCCmFDPmtjHpDOHmf_iNWLR57nQ86zdOkuzWC-kgOq0_WrCn2Cg09Tm5hgGPmNzuEGKvVGOu8XKHchJ0z/s1600/bday7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_J05MQ1DxHZ4a-rMWYNF47Z_Y-sZ6HdbutrJSSrsnOxkJlUeNLL_sd2rTulErCCmFDPmtjHpDOHmf_iNWLR57nQ86zdOkuzWC-kgOq0_WrCn2Cg09Tm5hgGPmNzuEGKvVGOu8XKHchJ0z/s400/bday7.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">:o</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLwRoHPbeIn2Ypp3rVIFx1OkbDbjtOaZenifb57BD7-oSKeSU3xBJ56oDP__8tvNxkMbPgERIZRbOjgQG8jZnkMhh0SKj5ZcucIChlGzecjm2e5HIAWTl56HYRxKWmo3EgXmmgIsjUzt3/s1600/bday9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLwRoHPbeIn2Ypp3rVIFx1OkbDbjtOaZenifb57BD7-oSKeSU3xBJ56oDP__8tvNxkMbPgERIZRbOjgQG8jZnkMhh0SKj5ZcucIChlGzecjm2e5HIAWTl56HYRxKWmo3EgXmmgIsjUzt3/s640/bday9.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excitement!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv2YlWuYlNGwZ65jIEYpyTb0enVih3nt1epzhpzVNbY_-koWA4362f9CM7QlfGT4AruTzEl7BgPfSh-exKkltDkr_LnPRQa6MN5K41UwqyGsyGZiIDa0GaZjj5LPcTP8GNy0Q9Ml7tMcUF/s1600/bday10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv2YlWuYlNGwZ65jIEYpyTb0enVih3nt1epzhpzVNbY_-koWA4362f9CM7QlfGT4AruTzEl7BgPfSh-exKkltDkr_LnPRQa6MN5K41UwqyGsyGZiIDa0GaZjj5LPcTP8GNy0Q9Ml7tMcUF/s640/bday10.jpg" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A book before bed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUailDTcEQtt-Q3BMBY6Hh0tJOVPE9M8VpMjx3MLF6kpQajuZZdMrG9NPSo787Z-Vanq_rUu2UwO0ANey7g4INhOpiq3jpWhF0V3Xwg7_f0KEPkEef8wTV4c6PjBVxdQqxRHWscuJ0qj9z/s1600/bd1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUailDTcEQtt-Q3BMBY6Hh0tJOVPE9M8VpMjx3MLF6kpQajuZZdMrG9NPSo787Z-Vanq_rUu2UwO0ANey7g4INhOpiq3jpWhF0V3Xwg7_f0KEPkEef8wTV4c6PjBVxdQqxRHWscuJ0qj9z/s200/bd1.jpg" width="165" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlyaAIpyOX4jpUKSFloeC38YpYpoSkANcUd0EnaSfUxNnU0v5DM0QwRsiUybVr6AgZXDNrQYIwOizXmSvk5CTb_lyzTa6abCYDI6eV57-IN4qaZNPzd2xcZ4x2QnzHwpfWqvRpfhgFIK8/s1600/bd2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlyaAIpyOX4jpUKSFloeC38YpYpoSkANcUd0EnaSfUxNnU0v5DM0QwRsiUybVr6AgZXDNrQYIwOizXmSvk5CTb_lyzTa6abCYDI6eV57-IN4qaZNPzd2xcZ4x2QnzHwpfWqvRpfhgFIK8/s200/bd2.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgZ9BUhk1IoBno67XUnLTSrWC6GB3kmzEhiwjE2iUdW09PfJ4ZtLg-rmROM4YVTUwFDTF53m1LQRWkpxVvh0ZHvjFWEZ6PA2m1xBflZCwZ1GWuSHHeUXze7B72Ixr-zVsME7kFU3gRNkQ/s1600/bd3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgZ9BUhk1IoBno67XUnLTSrWC6GB3kmzEhiwjE2iUdW09PfJ4ZtLg-rmROM4YVTUwFDTF53m1LQRWkpxVvh0ZHvjFWEZ6PA2m1xBflZCwZ1GWuSHHeUXze7B72Ixr-zVsME7kFU3gRNkQ/s320/bd3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3NoyCEoinZUPndLqKxzcEWp3GB2ZttIV7VG1QHveAWJrvPYK8vo6QmQ1H-vL-uZE0Pi03Tvp8kdSHSDti7Qt7rqzNXMlW5gxhOR4S4rx8JviEh7IcDt0OVVly2SYfSb31PYouKHE8Vc-/s1600/073.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3NoyCEoinZUPndLqKxzcEWp3GB2ZttIV7VG1QHveAWJrvPYK8vo6QmQ1H-vL-uZE0Pi03Tvp8kdSHSDti7Qt7rqzNXMlW5gxhOR4S4rx8JviEh7IcDt0OVVly2SYfSb31PYouKHE8Vc-/s400/073.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How big he's gotten!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-39418894413341824072015-10-10T14:47:00.000-07:002015-10-16T14:47:32.331-07:00Thirty-six Months!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKo7UXIwHfNoHTXuovVpOKrdJSXLUfW2ctnLjBUJ5BZg1an3s5b4oJK7f-nxSQxqXglcSnOyYBrxKRpjFO1C6DVDQhfw1nTjbSEA-sqj5PFc7yXjFZT6VQc_WkxHTaGmQ9iWlstpaacZZF/s1600/36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKo7UXIwHfNoHTXuovVpOKrdJSXLUfW2ctnLjBUJ5BZg1an3s5b4oJK7f-nxSQxqXglcSnOyYBrxKRpjFO1C6DVDQhfw1nTjbSEA-sqj5PFc7yXjFZT6VQc_WkxHTaGmQ9iWlstpaacZZF/s640/36.jpg" width="352" /></a></div>
<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-36649670227787862122015-10-01T13:55:00.003-07:002015-10-01T13:58:59.441-07:00Diagnosis, Ongoing Speech Therapy, Preschool, etc.For those of you asking for an update, here's a portion of the letter regarding Jude's official diagnosis and ongoing speech therapy and qualifications for continued assistence in combination with beginning preschool this fall. Names and agencies edited out for obvious reasons (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">as much as I love meeting new people, being surprised is actually quite terrifying</span>).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlbp4YYBhbh7K1EDgKqCJRwavOKQ-lwE6Q_VMd6KIDLlRASSCweBMyvjiTX40_d83j_t4shXHYxya7T89FW4jQgz8Oe844MHm_wqcVHFTeu3oQMufPU8RWJR3zok2v9UutrxDaIAUwpf4W/s1600/asdpublic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlbp4YYBhbh7K1EDgKqCJRwavOKQ-lwE6Q_VMd6KIDLlRASSCweBMyvjiTX40_d83j_t4shXHYxya7T89FW4jQgz8Oe844MHm_wqcVHFTeu3oQMufPU8RWJR3zok2v9UutrxDaIAUwpf4W/s400/asdpublic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />The agency was absolutely thrilled with the loving environment we provide for him at home and how involved, patient, and understanding we were even during his more difficult moments. Apparently that kind of thing is not common in their experience, which makes me kind of sad. Your children need your love and acceptance, especially during hard times.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-29894718988442643172015-09-15T13:17:00.001-07:002015-09-15T13:17:04.250-07:00Dear Child...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFnDnDbNrFxm2oBdmBTY9KJzjPri3Rfw0t0H_rbu04JHtGz5KqOe14-Dyi8TBs3pFBE1nqFTiYYEaOLyfIL4JHcG92UHv7CmhI4blPjjkqHTzLffGxd-Pevx5csOMugYMPLde2PjqTPeW/s1600/gtfts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFnDnDbNrFxm2oBdmBTY9KJzjPri3Rfw0t0H_rbu04JHtGz5KqOe14-Dyi8TBs3pFBE1nqFTiYYEaOLyfIL4JHcG92UHv7CmhI4blPjjkqHTzLffGxd-Pevx5csOMugYMPLde2PjqTPeW/s400/gtfts.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-12534842707280173622015-09-15T12:42:00.000-07:002015-09-15T12:42:15.676-07:00Adventures in Speech TherapySo last week the Speech Therapist penciled us in for this morning,
and said she'd text before Tuesday to make sure we were still on, etc.
Well, no text and no Speech Therapist. We're all still new at this, so
I'm pretty understanding.<br /><br />
I took the initiative to text her
asking about our next session and she suggests Thursday at 1:30pm. I
remind her moods are in higher spirits before noon. She says she's
booked Thursday morning but can offer us tomorrow at 11:00am instead.
That's actually perfect. She replies, "I'll see you then. <b><span class="_4-k1 img sp_fM-mz8spZ1b sx_7f72ac">;)</span></b>"<br /><br />
Like, omg no. Don't winky face. That implies you might be joking? You
might not show up again. This is not the place for winky face! lol.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-89611237877592275692015-09-12T14:02:00.000-07:002015-09-15T14:03:20.572-07:00Thirty-five Months!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIbJAXrw80vVZXjKpfTXtezb1mwSiIZlBqcE_nrxozwKTrGG_zsvet_yJBgdYIOsHTHXLWZB2nnNWrgMDf2A0LZiRUMwSsor-jkCaU0EZXtDlEpdQezHp6svfXR4Ud0_R_mW3PQdQcnrD/s1600/35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIbJAXrw80vVZXjKpfTXtezb1mwSiIZlBqcE_nrxozwKTrGG_zsvet_yJBgdYIOsHTHXLWZB2nnNWrgMDf2A0LZiRUMwSsor-jkCaU0EZXtDlEpdQezHp6svfXR4Ud0_R_mW3PQdQcnrD/s400/35.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-5805213805171363182015-09-11T12:43:00.000-07:002015-09-15T12:47:17.049-07:00First Speech Therapy SessionFirst session of speech therapy was today. Mostly just letting Jude
and the therapist get comfortable with one another (because Jude is shy
with adults). They had fun. He cried when she took her toys and left. It
was very sad.<br />
<br />
She tried to teach him More, along with the sign
for it. It's something we'll be working on until next week when she
comes back. She was also playing a game with him where she'd exclaim
"Achoo!" and now he is saying "Achoo" when he wants more of something.<br />
<br />
I guess it's kind of progress? Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-51725707181235635692015-09-10T12:52:00.000-07:002015-09-15T12:55:57.746-07:00Meeting The Preschool TeacherThis morning Jude got to meet his future preschool teacher. He liked her a lot, and of all the new people he has met through this ongoing process, he warmed up to her the fastest. She even got him to touch Playdoh, something he hasn't been willing to do for me at all. <br /><br />He played with her while she asked us questions about his development and the other assessments. Jude was fascinated by the bells she had brought with her. So much so that while we were helping her clean up, he grabbed one and hid it. No one noticed until a few hours later when he came out of the kitchen ringing it proudly. Tiny thief!<br /><br />It's his new favorite thing. I planned on buying him one after seeing how much he enjoyed them with her, but now I'll probably just buy her a new one and let him keep this one. It's seeing A LOT of use.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-68859491653948853442015-09-09T12:47:00.000-07:002015-09-15T12:49:07.878-07:00School District AssessmentsOur day began at 8am sharp. We met with the school district's psychologist, speech
therapist, occupational therapist, PE specialist, and a nurse all before
12. Jude handled it surprisingly well, though he was thoroughly done by the end and just wanted all of these people out of our house. Haha.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-46830332369588891582015-09-01T12:57:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:00:26.261-07:00ASD EvaluationYesterday pretty much everything that could have gone wrong did, but it inevitably ended alright anyway.<br />
<br />
It started the night before, when I realized right before bed that we
had a major appointment in the city the next day and I had no time to
prepare for it. That probably seems pretty minor to a lot of you, but
when you have autism prepping yourself for what to expect when you go
someplace new is very important. This generally takes about 24 hours,
which I did not have.<br />
<br />
So I spent the majority of the morning on
the brink of an anxiety attack, all while trying to get myself and Jude
ready to go. Jude, who woke my up in the middle of the night again, so
we were also both exhausted before noon. But his appointment wasn't
until 3, so I basically followed him around for hours trying to prevent
meltdowns so that transporting him from point a to point b wasn't a
nightmare.<br />
<br />
By the time we actually leave I'm actually having a
panic attack but I've no choice but to truck on. We get on the freeway
and there's wonky construction happening all over the place. The lanes
are split and divided by cement blocks. So when we realize we're
actually on the wrong 80 (there's 2 and maps rarely specify which), we
can't get off because of the dividers.<br />
<br />
Aaron plugs the address
into his phone to try to navigate us there but his phone is absolutely
not cooperating. Now Jude is fussing loudly. I offer him snacks now
thinking the complaints are hunger related. They are not.<br />
<br />
Just as
I'm about to have a heart attack to my mounting anxiety, he barfs. Car
sick. We knew he got car sick (I do too) but before it had only ever
happened in stop-and-go traffic. This was a straight shot. Welp. "Should
we turn around?" Aaron asks.<br />
<br />
"No. I think he's got spare clothes in the diaper bag. I'll clean him up, you just get us there."<br />
He cracks a window and I put my seat back so that I can scoop the
bloated raisins and bile off of the child and out of his car seat. It's
gross. Strangely having to enter ULTIMATE MOM MODE completely took away
my anxiety though. So, thanks unexpected toddler puke.<br />
<br />
We arrive
and Aaron calls to let them know we'll be running late and why, they are
gracefully understanding. I use a bottle of water and some paper towels
to give Jude a sponge bath in the trunk and then put him in a clean
shirt and diaper. There aren't any pants in the diaper bag, but he's not
old enough to be embarrassed about running around half naked yet so
that's fine.<br />
<br />
Aaron takes the clean child and heads inside to get
us all situation while I scrub down the car so that it isn't rancid in
the summer heat for the 3 hours this is supposed to take. I realize as
I'm walking into the building that Aaron took the paperwork with him so I
have no idea where to actually go.<br />
<br />
It didn't wind up mattering
because Jude would absolutely not let him enter the suite without me,
and he had to loiter outside in the hallway with a half naked, screaming
toddler getting looks from people until I arrived. lol.<br />
<br />
We go
in, he won't let me put him down. I hold all 40 lb. of him for 20
minutes until we're call back. The appointment itself goes well enough,
considering. She suspects ASD but it can be difficult to say definitively at this age. Afterward, Jude falls asleep while I'm holding him and the
doctor is talking to us. She talks to us for like... eternity. My arms
actually feel like they've been shred to ribbons when I can finally load
him back into his car seat. Which was thankfully dry and didn't stink.<br />
<br />
We got home, hung out with Jude a while then put him to bed. He of
course didn't want me to go, so I sat with him in the dark until he fell
asleep. Then I came out and tried to play some video games to unwind,
but my dying computer wouldn't let me. Thankfully Aaron suggested we
watch a movie instead, because I would've probably bashed my head
against that wall until just going to bed defeated.<br />
<br />
We watched
Kung Fu Hustle and ate chocolate and kettle corn while he basically
doused me in Icy Hot. Then, for the first time since last Monday, Jude
actually slept through the night.<br />
I feel it is important to share
bad days as well as good ones. Not only to vent but because hiding the
bad stuff is dishonest. I don't want my life to seem easy so others feel
bad when they struggle. No, man. We all struggle. Read about my
floundering. Share in my pain.<br />
<br />
tl;dr: anxiety attack, loads of barf, arms day ever day, technical difficulties, kung fu hustle, actual sleep.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-58215474826522091802015-08-23T14:04:00.003-07:002015-08-23T14:04:36.008-07:00Tiny Nightmares: No SleepJude got up at 4am crying, must've had a nightmare. I didn't realize how early it was, even though the sun hadn't risen yet. Assuming it was like 6 or so, I scooped him up and just climbed into his bed with him. He dozed back off for about an hour but then woke up crying again and seemed unable to get comfortable with me beside him. He gets out of bed and leaves.<br /><br />I assume he has gone out to lay/sleep on the couch. I put up the baby gate and go to grab my phone from beside the bed when I realize, no, he isn't on the couch. He has climbed into bed beside Aaron and is asleep in my spot. I'm about to go lay down in his bed to try to get some more sleep too, when he gets up, mad about Dad's snoring.<br /><br />I scoop him up again and take him back to his room. I sway with him in the darkness of pre-dawn morning until he's fallen asleep in my arms, then I put him back in his bed. He immediately rolls over and grabs my arm like a teddy bear. Trapped, I stand hunched over his bed uncomfortably for five minutes or so until I can finally make my escape. He cries and rolls over onto his back. <br /><br />Asleep again, I turn to go. He cries out and trashes around, angry he can't instantly fall back to sleep after each wake-up. I pause so he can see he isn't alone, and he falls asleep again. Desperate for sleep myself, I just grab one of his blankies and his duck pillow and catnap on the floor beside his bed. <br /><br />I woke up 30 minutes later and he was still out, so I slipped out and went back to my own bed, which Aaron was now firmly planted in the middle of. I wiggled beside him until he moved over and then started to drift off... when suddenly Jude was standing beside me tugging the blankets off. So at 6, we began our day for real.<br /><br />And this is the story about how I spent 2 hours trying to get someone else to sleep this morning, because man, I'm way better on not enough sleep than he is.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-1475911328752164102015-08-21T13:03:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:06:36.105-07:00OT AssessmentJude had an OT evaluation this morning and he did really well. Exceptional in some areas, even! Mind he did poorly in others, but the things he is good at he's impressively good at. He seemed to like the woman well enough too, which is nice because he wouldn't interact much with the last lady who came. He wanted to play with her toys, just not her. Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-67081682398678887412015-08-12T13:59:00.000-07:002015-09-15T14:00:54.134-07:00Thirty-four Months!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdT2APU_88pYitV8tCvKreDDZGU-q1yb9vtTMOynDOHddbuPizbyQ8iDwItXpxkQdy2hr1OAX90TRvuzEFh1LrpP2MCCp3rSV_UEhbtiO_iM9d7R8m_eIa-AY8xD37lgZ4KaebeE0rd8mZ/s1600/34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdT2APU_88pYitV8tCvKreDDZGU-q1yb9vtTMOynDOHddbuPizbyQ8iDwItXpxkQdy2hr1OAX90TRvuzEFh1LrpP2MCCp3rSV_UEhbtiO_iM9d7R8m_eIa-AY8xD37lgZ4KaebeE0rd8mZ/s400/34.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First hair cut!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-79969214187447461432015-08-12T13:07:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:14:21.625-07:00Music At The Park<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN9PuKt3itCuINBTKB23tKWEp3lApp6lShR6KnjMJGx4OJ5tof_x1s2Z6q5UFoj2sMlVRItmOQ09qc5p9a2KA9HIobi5pdtWY8-LKSNmpKtDPiuJ157IwJLvDEeB_2M4E1m9Zx_MDWzqMI/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN9PuKt3itCuINBTKB23tKWEp3lApp6lShR6KnjMJGx4OJ5tof_x1s2Z6q5UFoj2sMlVRItmOQ09qc5p9a2KA9HIobi5pdtWY8-LKSNmpKtDPiuJ157IwJLvDEeB_2M4E1m9Zx_MDWzqMI/s400/002.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />Tonight we headed to the park for gourmet food trucks and live music. Jude was a little cranky because he was
tired, but he was happy to play while we ate. Then he went on the swings with Aaron, and then climbed
on the jungle gym with me. Of course then he fell off and ate a mouthful of
sand. He wasn't hurt and didn't cry, but he certainly was not a fan of
sand in his mouth. He kept gritting it between his teeth while making the most awful disapproving expression. I finally got him to drink something to help wash out his mouth and he was a lot happier after that. All tuckered out, he fell asleep on the ride home.Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-3605956700299939232015-07-25T13:18:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:20:02.086-07:00Fear And Pooping in Las VegasMy life is like a scene from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas right
now. I’m in the bathroom and hear Jude singing loudly. I come out and
he is dancing around the table like it’s a bon fire, his pants and
diaper are around his ankles. In the middle of a circle of strategically
placed toys, on the carpet, is a pile of his poop. As I’m taking this
all in, he trips on his pants and bumps his cheek on the table.<br /><br />
I scoop him up, amazed there is no poop anywhere else, and comfort hi<span class="text_exposed_show">m.
He sobs the lyrics of Twinkle Twinkle into my neck. I ask him if 8 is
great, he says it is, then starts singing that song while I pull his
diaper and pants back up. He has peed on the back of his pants but not
the front, somehow? I change his pants. I ask if he needs a hug. He
pouts and reaches for me. We hug.<br /></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
He whispers a name into my ear as a single perfect tear rolls down his
cheek. Elmo. I get Elmo from his bed and hand it to him and we create a
people/monster cuddle sandwich. Better now, I put him down to go clean
up the poop that’s been waiting for me on the floor and as I kneel down
he climbs onto my back like I’m a pony. ”Giddy-up,” he shouts. Who even
taught him that word? <br /><br />
…toddlers are amazing.</div>
Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-50904771970017556962015-07-15T13:21:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:24:14.993-07:00Speech TherapyJude woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, super cranky. Had our first meeting/assessment with the Speech Therapist this afternoon. He'll be receiving their services weekly because he obviously qualifies. Unfortunately the women were quite in his face and loud so he had a melt down and I had to hold him the entire time. Then he fell asleep. But even while asleep every now and then I'd feel a tear fall from his shut eyes and land on my arm. Aw, poor Duck. Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-17420596729204190032015-07-12T13:58:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:59:49.132-07:00Thirty-three Months!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZYi5dabvAdSszGc26Kb-KM2uvM5_Zxus_E6s2Q1XKaOc54QOOjaNw9C516Q_QKSkJjVxrVdZmble3DNsb5s9RgksX8s84s0ozO-6LSvwzR9aN7kSwSjI22pTUt5S542V21hkqMumYXA_/s1600/33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZYi5dabvAdSszGc26Kb-KM2uvM5_Zxus_E6s2Q1XKaOc54QOOjaNw9C516Q_QKSkJjVxrVdZmble3DNsb5s9RgksX8s84s0ozO-6LSvwzR9aN7kSwSjI22pTUt5S542V21hkqMumYXA_/s400/33.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-90169964563359165752015-06-12T13:55:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:58:37.146-07:00Thirty-two Months!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnGn_YLwJMnnEnBksEMPlXRSmDzvJdivuOCbmeVA-H9_uwQ4lmtnkDs0sJ4IAEcdD1j0XQfE1hzTt315gowO7rvC4GPl82mVPrxALwbPn658sBVvyUyi5a3ZPq6C-N-_aH2JslfSHlw4m/s1600/32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYnGn_YLwJMnnEnBksEMPlXRSmDzvJdivuOCbmeVA-H9_uwQ4lmtnkDs0sJ4IAEcdD1j0XQfE1hzTt315gowO7rvC4GPl82mVPrxALwbPn658sBVvyUyi5a3ZPq6C-N-_aH2JslfSHlw4m/s400/32.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-87575150575933666692015-05-31T13:29:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:34:04.924-07:00All Babies All The Time“You talk about your son a lot.”<br /> “Well, yeah. I spend all but a couple hours a day with him, sleeping aside.”<br /> “So like 14 hours every day?”<br />
“Sometimes more than that. I don’t have time for anything that doesn’t
include him, so he may sometimes literally be all I have to talk about.”<br /> “That makes sense. I hadn’t thought about it like that.”<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> “People usually don’t. Unfortunately.”<br /></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
In which my friend suddenly realizes why moms talk so much about their
babies. As an aside, I think I do decent job not flooding social media at least.
There's Thursday (which exists solely for my family because they live
3000 miles away) and times things happening that aren't normal, etc. but
it's not a nonstop thing.<br /><br />But even if it were, <span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$comment966397443391394_967727773258361/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$comment966397443391394_967727773258361/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$comment966397443391394_967727773258361/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$comment966397443391394_967727773258361/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.$end/=1$text0/=010">if
after a having a baby your female friend spends basically every waking
moment caring for said baby, that's probably ALL she has to talk about.
So telling her not to is basically just telling her to shut up. She's dealing with enough, maybe you should stfu.</span></span></span></span><br /><br /><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end/=1$text0/=010">Like
I get it, maybe you don't like baby spam. It can seem excessive if you
know like 1000 people on FB and 500 of them are moms but... why have you
added so many people to begin with? That shit's <i>your</i> fault.</span><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end/=1$text1/=010" /><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end/=1$text3/=010" /><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end/=1$text4/=010">If it's just w</span></span><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text0/=010">omen
you actually know and care about posting about their kid, what's the
issue? This may be the only adult social interaction she'll get all day.
It might be all she has to update you about at the time. Get the fuck
over it.</span><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text1/=010" /><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text3/=010" /><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text4/=010">If
you don't care about her, see the first point: why are you friends in
the first place? FFS, you're more of a baby than her literal baby at
that point.</span><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text5/=010" /><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text7/=010" /><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text8/=010">If
she truly is just going over board, you know how you can help? Talk to
her about it. Complaining about it in her absence or exploding at her
after the millionth 'first tooth!' photo isn't helping anyone. Remind
her that you'd love to see posts from her about how she's doing. Maybe
about what she's watching/reading/playing in her scant free time.</span><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text9/=010" /><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text11/=010" /><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text12/=010">Babies
absorb your life. It is easy to get caught in a routine and neglect
yourself. People without kids don't understand because to them, they're
always first priority. But to a parent? They aren't anymore. They might
not even be second priority.</span><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text13/=010" /><br data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text15/=010" /><span data-reactid=".1l5.1:4.1:$replies966397443391394_966413230056482/=10.1:2:$comment966397443391394_966415120056293/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text16/=010">Basically say anything other than "wah wah wah babies, wah wah wah!" She gets enough of that, trust me.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-86424785046495608722015-05-29T15:42:00.000-07:002015-05-29T15:42:02.865-07:00One of Those NightsPardon my lack of coherence. Last night was a nightmare for sleep. Which is particularly difficult on me because night sleep has been, since he was born, the only quality sleep he's ever gotten. Like he'd resist naps 60% of the time but once bed time hit? Out like a light, out the whole night, we both got a full night of sleep. So this behavior isn't something I've had to endure beyond those long gone newborn days of nursing every 2-3 hours.<br /><br />I put Jude to bed around 9:00, he
was up chatting and singing in the dark until 10:00 or so. Then at 12:00
he woke up and came into our bedroom and got me. So I took him back to his bed and was up
trying to get him back to sleep for about an hour, standing and swaying until he was mellowed enough to go back to bed by himself. At least he was back to sleep though, and in his own bed. <br /><br />Then at around 4:00 he
got up and came to me again, crying this time. He climbed into bed with me but couldn't settle. Aaron tried making the room darker but Jude just became more upset, to the point where he actually climbed out of the bed and tried to turn the light on. So I got out of bed, scooped him into my arms, and took him back to his room. He was far too upset to go lay there by himself and actually fall asleep, so I laid in bed with him for over an
hour, with him crying about how tired he was on an off, until he
finally fell back to sleep. Then I snuck out and went back to bed
myself. <br /><br />At 7 he came in again, this time bright eyed and bushy tailed,
ready for the day. Ugh. <br />
And, of course, he isn't napping, despite getting just as little sleep as I did, he's rearing to go (critical mass crankiness aside). I swear this child's got inhuman levels of energy. Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3603680407341725208.post-52544183012240988402015-05-20T13:35:00.000-07:002015-09-15T13:40:29.149-07:00Hating ChildrenWhen people (especially young people) say they hate children... like did
they forget they were a child themselves? gtfo you little
turds. Be nice to kids, you were one! You exist right now because you were a child someone tolerated. Be especially nice to children if you
were one less than a decade ago. You can dislike kids without being a douche bag to them.<br /><br /><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g" data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.0.$end/=1$text0/=010">Sure,
everyone knows "that one" kid that is just the definition of
irritating, but that isn't all kids anymore than that guy who keeps
sexually harassing his coworker isn't "all men" or that one feminist who
thinks men should be enslaved isn't "all</span></span><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3"><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0"><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text0/=010"> feminists."</span><br data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text1/=010" /><br data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text3/=010" /><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text4/=010">Like,
just because your cousin/sibling/nephew/niece is being raised poorly
and thus is an annoying little twat doesn't mean all children are rude
and annoying. Blame the parent not the child. It's a freaking child. It
won't know better if no one teaches it better.</span><br data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text5/=010" /><br data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text7/=010" /><span data-reactid=".1op.1:4.1:$comment964614416903030_964618833569255/=10.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.3.0.$end/=1$text8/=010">Kids,
by and large, are actually very sweet until prepubescence, when
hormones begin making them act like moody little adults. Now, if you
said you disliked teenagers, no one in their right mind would blame you
much. Even teenagers. That said, you should still be nice to teenagers too. Their hormonal fluctuations aren't their fault and they have no control over them.<br /><br />tl;dr: Stop acting like you popped into existence as a fully formed, educated adult. You used to pee on your face and eat boogers too, shut up.</span></span></span></span></span></span>Inarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09640614599585713686noreply@blogger.com0