Mother’s Day: Cloudy with a Chance of Gosling.

Is it sunny yet?  No?  What the heck!  My back”yard” is starting to get very sink hole-y/quicksandy.  I will not be surprised if one of these mornings I awake and find a tree has slid into the old barn on the other side of the fence, creating a new escape route for PX.  Eeep. 

All the rain aside, this week has been the hardest week for me since the kids’ evals in February.  And it has nothing to do with the munchkins; they haven’t been overly difficult or had a rough week.  It’s just me, a momism, thanks to Mother’s Day on Sunday.  Oh Mother’s Day, that bittersweet bitch of a holiday.  I will explain.

One of my favorite things as a child, and looking back on my childhood, was making gifts for my family (mainly my mom).  I grew up in a culturally diverse yet heavily Catholic area so there was always something to celebrate.  ALWAYS.  Preschool to middle school, art projects for holidays and festivals were a staple of our curriculum, and I quickly grew to love giving my mom macaroni portraits and hand-drawn cards and tissue paper flower bouquets and Play-Do dishes and allllllllllllll that stuff.  By the time I was 10 I valued our time together spent looking through bags and boxes of my past creations. 

So naturally, when I’d daydream about being a mom to my hoard of children, I began to look forward to getting my own hand-crafted kid gifts.  Of going to work wearing my snazzy elbow macaroni necklace and #1 Mom puffpaint t-shirt.  Of hearing “I love you, mommy.”

But now, on my 3rd Mother’s Day weekend, after weeks of therapies and awaiting evals and special needs playgroups, I don’t know when I’ll ever get that. 

I could *probably* ignore this for one final year, if it all hadn’t been impacted at Tuesday’s playgroup.  The daily project?  A Mother’s Day drawing.  PX was pretty into scribbling and putting on stickers, he even let his teacher put his little thumbprints on it to make a flower.  It was cute, and I was feeling good about his interested level in drawing, and started to tear up.  

And then she told PX “Give it to mom!”  And then I cried. 

Because he couldn’t understand her command.  PX can’t understand how to give someone an object.  14 months of us trying to teach him “give ____ to _____” and he just doesn’t fucking get it.  Every typical kid his age, many younger, I have known can give an object to someone.  But not mine.

So, I cried.  I stopped being positive, and stopped looking for the bright side, and got upset and pissed off and cried.  Because why the hell does everything have to be difficult for my kid, my sweet little booger face?  Why does he have to try extra hard to do things that are supposed to come naturally?  Why can’t PX at least understand how to hand me a picture?  And why does his sister have to struggle, too?  Why?!

Rough week indeed.  Thankfully it’s Friday and that means memes to make me laugh at the linky on Adventures in Extreme Parenthood, especially with this week’s picture.  I’m pretty sure Ryan just wants me to hop in and get dirty, but maybe it’s wishful thinking. ;)

Only for you, Ryan.  Only for you.

For all the mamas & papas in bloggyland dealing with shittastic educators; Ryan gives y’all some Billy Madison rogue justice.

In honor of PX finally getting over his vacuum fear, after 13 months of tearful meltdowns every time it came out of the closet.  Now, it’s his favorite tag partner, just like when he was an infant.

Oh thank god, the kids are heavy into hiding things again lately.  Think they’re playing “squirrel.”  I don’t like that game.

And in honor of it being Mother’s Day on Sunday, Ryan did want all the special needs mamas to know just how wonderful and covered in awesomesauce we are.

I knew Justin and Andy had some help with that tune, mwahahaha.

Oh hellz yes!  *BOOM* Ovaries = gone.

Special Needs Ryan Gosling Day!

I’m way too tired to form coherent sentences (or title) of substance.  I haven’t slept longer than 1 hour at a time this week, and Wednesday night?  Forget it; made the mistake of giving little Rizzle something containing cheese so neither of us slept that night.  We just snuggled up together, miserable and whining.  So much for hoping she didn’t inherit my side’s awful gut issues.

So all I wanna do is sleep.  Please?  It’s rainy and I’m tired and I have no flavored coffee/creamer.  Sad thing is, in the big picture, this has been a decent week, so I should be all bouncy happy.  Maybe I’ll enjoy all the positives on Saturday.

Anyway, here’s Ryan to put some interesting into this post because it’s Friday and we all know what that means.  Be sure to head over to the link-up at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood for more sexy RyRy lolz.

Why isn’t he topless?

Is that an order?  I hope it is!  (lil Zac Brown Band for y’all btw)

True fact, both Ryan and Adam Levine (Maroon 5) have ADHD.  Adam’s fairly vocal about it, in a positive manner too.  {the more you know}  I’ve heard him credit it for some of his success.  Don’t think he credits it for his sexy, though.  I’d Google the article(s) but I’m lazy.

I Just Wanna Meme, with Ryan Gosling!

It’s Friday.  I should be blogging about more serious matters, like sensory seeking squirrels or Pez dispensers as lightsabers, but it’s Friday dammit.  And Rizzle enjoys sitting in my lap, waving at people pictures, and occasionally calling Ryan Gosling “dada”.  Keep dreaming, gurrrl.
Plus, I am so deep into sensory diets and hyposensitivity versus hypersensitivity that I’ve just hit sensory processing disorder overload.  The gears in my head have exploded.
And I’ve got to bake for Rizzle’s little party this weekend, and I’m not even close to getting that started.  If I can make an Elmo head in 2 hours, I’m forcing Cake Boss to give me his business.  Or, at least a job.
So anyway, Ryan is taking over my blog today before it becomes diary of a mad chocoholic mom with sprinkles of insanity.
And Wednesday was my girl’s actual first birthday, so Ryan has a special message for her, too.  Dreamboat!!

Awww!  Such a sweetie.

Jack Johnson, eat your heart out.

Best news ever!  I really had no desire to get out of my PJs today, Ry.  It’s rainy here.

I’ll get some coffee brewing, that kid could be out there ALL. DAY.

Linking up down thurr.  :)

Have You Seen This? Because it’s Amazing.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who’s known me for longer than 5 seconds that I’m in love with Ryan Gosling.
 

Shit.  What were we talking about again? 
Oh yeah.  Ryan Gosling. 
Obviously.
Sorry.

As to be expected, I am also disgustingly obsessed a fan of the “Hey Girl” memes, much like The Gosling himself. 

So when in searching for autism mommy blogs I stumbled across Special Needs Ryan Gosling on Adventures in Extreme Parenthood, I gasped.  Then LOLed.  Then had to pause to get a bib for my intermittent drooling, and LOLed some more.  I knew that Ryan understood the average fangirl and the historian lass and even the geeky gamer chick.  But I had no idea that Ryan Gosling was so supportive and understanding of the special needs mom (and dad, because Ryan is most definitely a feminist and gender stereotyping is definitely out!). 

Oh Ryan, it’s comforting to know you’re on board for alternative therapies!  I think the tots will be so excited for this!  He even knew just what to say when I walked into Hannaford’s and saw that So Delicious was sold out AGAIN, and then discovering Shaw’s doesn’t carry it at all! (Ajerlskfeof.)

Geeze Ryan Gosling must be the most considerate, advocating A-list celebrity besides George Clooney.  *swoon*

I wonder what else Ryan has to say this week about special needs parenting.  I’ll have to link up tomorrow to see.  :) 

And the winner of the craziest PJs of the night is…

my little boogie monster, PX!

If Only I Could Be This Witty

A Mother's Prayer for Its Child

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,”she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”

-Tina Fey

I birthed a puppy. Or perhaps a kitten?

PX has developed a fear so ridiculous it's almost humorous: he's petrified of our vacuum.

Now when I say he's petrified of the vacuum, I don't mean just when it's running; he's afraid of it being anywhere near him even unplugged.  The little bugger dumped his Honey Comb all over the living room yet again this morning and I'm not so keen on feeling like I live in a Texas Roadhouse so out came the vacuum.  I hadn't even gotten it in the room and the scared screeching began.  Once it passed the threshold, still off and wrapped up, PX backed himself into a corner.  Oh yes, my son who will climb up onto his high chair and use it as a trampoline, the same child who'll jump off the couch given the chance, hid from the evil vacuum.  But of course, once it went on, the true terror tantrum began and PX made it worse for himself by running towards my legs.  So now there is a clear line of "nicely kept home" vs. "where's the floor?" going on in my living room.  Oy.

There's never a dull moment when a toddler is around.