my favorite character

Ed note: Lest I give you the impression that we’ve been crying in our Mickey O’s the whole time we’ve been here, I thought I’d share some of my favorite moments from the past few days. 

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There are two things in this world that my girl simply adores – carnival rides and characters. She’ll go running up to a guy in a nondescript bear suit hawking kitchen mops at a supermarket and hug him like her life depends on it and she’ll ride the caterpillar roller coaster at the county fair until someone insists that it’s time to go home.

That’s my girl. And in large part, it’s exactly why where we’re here.

*

Like many kids, when Brooke sees the Disney characters, she goes straight in for the hug.

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And she hugs ..

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And hugs ..

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And hugs ..

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And hugs ..

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And hugs some more ..

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But unlike many other kids, MY little character is not done there. As a matter of fact, she’s just getting started.

You see, characters are meant to BE characters. And to Brooke, that means getting Tigger to bounce ..

(I couldn’t catch him mid-air, so you’ll have to take my word for it) ..

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And Quincy to dance ..

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And Mickey and Minnie to play follow the leader ..

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And Ring around the Rosy ..

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She got Donald to pretend to sleep ..

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And Eeyore to lose his tail. Again ..

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There’s one last photo. It is in fact, the piece de resistance. But I’ve decided that in the interest of protecting the not so innocent character involved, I have to resist the urge to share it.

Suffice to say that little Miss did what we previously thought was impossible. She got a character to make a noise. In fact, she got a particularly .. er .. ‘goofy’ dog to bark. He refused and refused and refused and then just as he was about to walk away, he stuck his nose right in her ear and woofed. The moment was utterly hilarious, deliciously Brooke and pure Disney magic.

As much as we’ve loved seeing the characters – and as you can see, we’ve made it our mission to see a LOT of them – there is no character I love more than the one that is in each and every one of the pictures above.

Yes, we’re at Disney World. And as hard as some moments can be here, the ones above prove it. It really is magic.

hiding from irene, griswold style

*

Well hello there, beautiful you. How are you? I pray that if you’re in Irene’s path you’ve managed to stay safe. That storm has wreaked havoc with everyone, but I’ll be damned if our kids haven’t gotten the worst of it.

From turbo-charged anxiety to hypersensitivity to changes in pressure, our poor kiddos take a beating when any major weather system moves through – whatever it might be. Add in a lack of power (which is barely explainable at best to kids with difficulty processing abstract concepts) and throw a monkey wrench into our coveted routines and well, it’s just hours of fun for everyone ain’t it?

Since we are right on Irene’s projected route, we decided to get the heck out of dodge. We had booked a trip to Disney World months ago. We decided this year to replace our annual summer visit to Nantucket with a trip to the Mouse’s House. Although Orlando in August sounded somewhat suicidal, we thought perhaps the parks would be less crowded this time of year. (We were wrong, but that’s what we thought.)

I won’t go into the long version of why we decided to hit Disney this year. Suffice to say that the timing seemed right for the little one and the big one thankfully is not yet too cool to hop on board. (Pun not intended but works well given her current situation.)

The plan was to leave on Sunday (yesterday) and stay in Orlando until Friday. It was perfectly planned to allow us (read me) plenty of time to shop for last-minute items and to pack for the girls and me at my leisure.

And then came Irene. Who apparently couldn’t give a rat’s arse about my leisure. Go figure.

By Friday morning, Sunday’s flights were already being cancelled out of both New York and Boston. We were fairly certain that by Sunday, there would be no way out. We could only imagine the chaos that would follow as airlines resumed service today and tomorrow. As it turns out autism + “I’m really not sure when we’re going to be able to leave, honey” = a fairly combustible combination.

I called our travel agent and found myself at #482 on his list of people scrambling to beat the storm. I told him that as much as I felt for the other 481, we could really use some help.

While we waited to hear back from the agent, Luau took the girls out to rent a wheelchair for Katie, who you may remember was then just two days into her broken foot and sportin’ a nifty cast. Oh yeah, good times.

By Friday afternoon, our plans were reconfirmed. We would leave on a 9:30 flight that same evening, arriving in Orlando at 12:30 in the morning. So much for time to shop, pack or breathe. As I raced home from work at 5pm, I told Luau to warn the girls – When Mama gets home, stand back or expect to get packed into a bag.

By the time we hit the hotel in Orlando, Brooke was a certifiable hot mess. From the flight – oh dear Lord the flight – to the not so magical Disney Magical Express bus ride to the hotel – oh dear Lord the bus ride – to the wait at the front desk at 2 am as we checked into the hotel – oh dear Lord the wait – we sure did our part to spread autism awareness on our way here. My sincerest apologies to all we encountered that night, but most of all to my sweet girl. I am so sorry, my love. Nothing should have to be so hard.

On Saturday morning, the whole family slept late – our internal clocks completely upside down. We let most of a lovely day pass by as we tried to get our bearings. By the time we herded the wet cats – er, got our crew down to breakfast – it was nearly eleven.

While we waited to get into the restaurant, Brooke spotted a young girl in a Cinderella dress. She couldn’t have been more than ten. Brooke walked around her slowly. A little too close, she peered under her chin, then up at her blond hair, then stopped to inspect her dress. I waited to see if I should intervene, but the girl was smiling sweetly, apparently delighted by the attention.

Brooke’s eyes went wide as she put the pieces together in her head. She lifted an arm and waved. Then she yelled to the girl standing right in front of her, “Hi, Cinderella!”

The girl offered a very princess-y wave in return. Brooke was thrilled and I was wondering if perhaps we could have saved a boatload of money on this trip.

Later, when we finally arrived at the Magic Kingdom, the girls were nearly vibrating with excitement. Brooke pulled me toward the gates, but we had some quick business to attend to first. We had to activate our park passes at will-call and see guest services to get not one, but two disability passes.

Brooke immediately began to pace the perimeter of the waiting area. I tried everything I had to will the process to go faster. This poor kid had waited long enough.

But something was wrong. They couldn’t find the record of our passes. The numbers didn’t match. The Disney Cast Member at the counter was lovely and assured us that she’d figure it out somehow, but the travel agent had apparently screwed up royally. Luau tried to call the agent directly. Their offices had closed due to the hurricane. They wouldn’t reopen until Monday.

Brooke was pacing a rut into the ground. She was barely with me and not responding when I called her. I got panicky about the implications of her not responding and told her that I needed to give her a special tattoo on her arm. I wrote ‘IF LOST” and our cell phone number in Sharpie. She was not happy. She wanted the tattoo OFF. She began to yell. And cry.

Good times, my friends. Good times.

I wrangled the girls – well, ok the one in the wheelchair didn’t really need to be wrangled – and brought them over to a tree that I thought Brooke might like. She climbed it like a little monkey and for the first time in an hour, smiled. Which is of course when the very nice Disney security guard came over to tell her she needed to get down. “Don’t want you to get hurt, princess!”

Right.

As we walked back up to check in with Luau and to see if he’d gotten any closer to getting us in, we heard the first one. Katie and I looked at each other, confirming – that was no roller coaster off in the distance. It was thunder. Really loud thunder. By the time the second one rolled in, the sky had gone dark. When the third one came, it brought the rain.

The nice lady at the desk never found the reservation for the park passes. After nearly an hour of trying, she took mercy on us and wrote out complimentary tickets for the day, leaving us to work things out with the travel agency on our own.

As we walked in, the skies opened and the rain came down hard. Families all around us scrambled for cover. Brooke yelped. Irene laughed. And I did everything I could not to cry.

Welcome to Disney World, kids. Happiest place on Earth.

*

Ed note: That was Friday. I won’t say that the Saturday and Sunday were easy, but they were definitely better. We have had moments of pure magic that have made it all worthwhile. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. We’re having fun. I think. I’m pretty sure. Right? Yeah. We are. Really.

her mother’s daughter

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In case it’s not obvious, this is not my actual refrigerator. I’m thinking it’s not really anyone’s actual refrigerator cause not for nothin’, but who the heck has an entire shelf of tomatoes? Or not one but three large bottles of coke? Right? Right.

**

8:30 p.m. Just before bedtime.

I hear Brooke make her way down to the kitchen. Having seen this movie before, I know how it ends. I follow her, preferring to intervene now rather than clean up later.

I arrive to find her standing in front of the fridge. She is hanging off the handles of the open doors staring at the shelves of food inside.

I gently reprimand her. I learned in Mama School that every parent has to, at some point in their lifetime tell her kid that the fridge is not a TV – or something along those lines. It’s mandatory, you know. Check it out. I think it’s in the handbook – right next to the part about not getting into a pool until your food has settled – whatever that may actually mean.

I explain that the refrigerator uses energy when we open it. She responds with an exaggerated echo. “EN -ergy?” and I have to wonder how that sentence might get processed through the Brooke-filter.

She finally makes a choice – sliced peaches and yogurt – and we close the fridge.

**

11:30 p.m. Long after bedtime.

I’m starving. It was a weird night. I had a rare meeting after work, then another via phone that ran until well past 7. By the time I got home dinnertime had long since passed. I jumped into the evening routine with the girls and never managed to eat. I haven’t had a bite since lunch.

I wander into in the kitchen, contemplating a snack. I have no idea what I want.

I am staring into the open fridge, searching for inspiration. I laugh, playing back the evening. I watch myself chide Brooke for doing exactly what I am now doing myself. I see my hand tease the handle out of hers and close the door. I hear her echo. “EN-ergy?.

And then it happens. The simplest, most delicious thought runs through my head.

“Can’t blame her I guess; she’s her mother’s daughter after all.”

Such a simple, typical thought, isn’t it? So commonplace, this idea that one’s child is JUST LIKE THEM.

Oh but we know better, don’t we? We know that typical thoughts ain’t always so typical in Autismland. We learn quickly that sometimes, the seemingly mundane is actually anything but. In fact, sometimes it’s everything.

I settle on the leftovers of last night’s chicken parmesan and pile some dried pineapple onto the plate for good measure. I close the refrigerator door.

As I head upstairs with my plate, I can’t stop smiling. My kid is – in some small way at least – JUST. LIKE. ME. Yup, the seemingly mundane can be everything.

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how bad?

Ed note: The following story is somewhat edited / abbreviated lest this post be reeeeeeally long and drag in a bunch of stuff that needn’t be dragged in. You’re welcome. 

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I pick up the phone on my desk at work. It’s Katie. She is crying.

“Mama, it’s me. I’m at the pool with E and I jumped in and I hurt my foot and I really need you to come get me.”

I can hear her discomfort through the phone. Less the pain than the “This situation sucks and I don’t really know the grown-ups here very well and I really want my mom.”

I ask if she thinks it’s serious. She says she thinks so. I ask to speak with E’s Dad.

“Hi there.” I say. Thanks so much for taking care of her. Any chance you can tell if this is um, well, maybe a little bit of ten year-old drama perhaps or if she really got hurt badly?”

He says he has no idea and offers to send me a picture of her foot.

I.

Um.

Ok.

I thank him and tell him I’m going to try to get hold of Luau who is only ten minutes away. I tell him I’ll call back.

I try Luau but can’t get him.

I call back and ask to speak with Katie again.

She is still crying. I tell her I’m on my way.

**

We thank E’s dad profusely and hobble together out to the car.

I take a good, hard look at Katie’s foot but I see a whole lot of nothing. It’s maybe a teeny weeny bit swollen (I think), mildly bruised (or is that just the light?) and a little red (which I’m assuming is from the ice).

I bite back a wave of something between frustration and anger. I left work for this? Seriously? We were shorthanded. Leaving was a big deal. A really big deal. I — I take a deep breath and say what I’m thinking.

“Listen, babe. I’ve got to be honest. I don’t think it looks that bad. I’m not saying that it doesn’t hurt. I understand that it really does. I really, really do. Bruises on the bone like that can be awful. But I think we should go home and put it up with some ice and see how you feel in a little while.”

Katie isn’t buying it. “Mama,” she says, “I had ice on it for forty-five minutes. It still hurts just as much as it did before. I think we should go to the hospital. I hope they tell us there’s nothing wrong. And if they do, then you can cream me with I told you so’s. But I think we should go.”

**

I’m not much older than Katie. I’m lying down on the floor in the gym. I’ve just fallen off the balance beam in epic fashion. Mid back flip, upside down, my shin met the beam with a nauseating thwack. The pain is blinding.

I’m listening to the adults talk above my head. I hear my dad ask, “How bad is it?” The team trainer answers,”Oh, she’ll be fine. Just gonna be a nasty bruise in the morning. Keep it elevated and put some ice on it overnight.”

My dad crouches down to me on the floor. “How bad?” he asks.

“Daddy, it KILLS,” I answer through tears. 

He takes me straight to the ER. Within hours I am in a full leg cast with a broken tibia. My dad never doubted me.

**

I don’t ask again.

I drive my girl to the hospital.

As the doctor announces that she has broken not just one bone in her foot but more likely two, Katie looks at me and says, “So much for the creaming me with I told you so’s.”

Indeed.

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Leave it to Katie to ask the gentleman in the casting room if perhaps he wouldn’t mind doing stripes. You wear it well, kiddo. You wear it well. 

 

 

 

them elephants

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In the car last week:

Brooke, excitedly: Katie, look! There’s them elephants!

My heart fills with pride. I will never, ever tire of hearing my girl say, “Look!” No, it took too long to get here to be taken for granted. 

Katie, confused: What elephants, Brooke? I don’t see any elephants.

Brooke: Pretend!

And pretending! Did you catch that? I know you did. The child who once had ‘No Functional Play Skills’ is ya, know, just pretending. Cause that’s how she rolls now. 

Katie: Oh, um, OK, sure, Brooke.

Brooke, excitedly: Katie, look! There’s them elephants!

Katie: I see. But Brooke, we don’t say ‘them elephants’ we say ‘THOSE elephants’.

Brooke: No we don’t.

Katie: Yes we do. You’d say, ‘Katie, look at THOSE elephants!’ Can you say it like that, Brooke?

Brooke, excitedly: Sure. Katie, look at those them elephants!

I look at Luau. He looks at me. I am laughing too hard to breathe. 

Katie to Luau and me: Um, hullo? Little help here?

Luau: Yup, them sure are some big elephants.

That’s it. I’m toast. 

**

Ed note: click on the links (in blue) to read related posts. 

roots and wings

It’s not living if you don’t reach for the sky

I’ll have tears as you take off

But I’ll cheer as you fly

~ Mark Harris, Find your Wings

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Last Wednesday night – the eve of Katie’s record-breaking four night stay at her Grammy’s house …

**

After talking about nothing else for the previous two days, Katie had begun to equivocate.

“Mama,” she said quietly, “I’m not so sure I want to go to Grammy and Grandpa DD’s this weekend. Maybe I could just, you know, see them another time.”

“Baby,” I said, “you’ve been so excited about this trip. And they have all kinds of exciting things planned – The Bronx Zoo! The Met!”

Her face was glum.

“I know, Mama. But I’m going to miss you,” she said. “A LOT. And Daddy and Brooke and Winston” She bit her lip. “It’s too long. I don’t think I can do it.”

I cupped her chin in my hand and chased her eyes. She looked at me reluctantly.

“Sweet pea,” I began, “do you remember what it says on the picture on your washroom wall?”

Her face brightened.

“Of course, Mama. I see it every day.”

“Well, then,” I asked. “What does it say?”

“It says, To you I wish to give two things – to give you roots, to give you wings.”

My girl’s half-packed overnight bag sat next to us on the floor, overflowing with evidence of  her ten year-old tweendom. Even the books she packed told the story. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The Mysterious Benedict Society and Phineas and Ferb. So hungry for the world in some ways, yet hanging onto her little girlhood by her bubble gum pink fingernails.

I held my girl and rocked her gently. I slowed to a stop, then pulled her just far enough away to be able to see her beautiful eyes.

“You know you’ve got the roots, my love. You know that. Always. Now it’s time to test your wings.You’ve got this.”

We finished packing.

**

Today – Monday …

Luau is heading down to my mom’s to pick Katie up today. I can not wait to see her. To hold her. To squeeze her. To play with her hair. To rub her back. To hug her. I need her presence.

When I see her, I won’t tell her that I cried. I won’t tell her that it was all I could do not to get in the car and come get her when she asked if she could come home early. I won’t tell her that I lost it completely on Saturday night, aching for her, wondering if she knew just how much she was missed.

No, I won’t tell her.

Instead, I will tell her how proud I am of her.

And how beautiful her wings look.

I cannot wait to see her.

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Ed note: I had a sense of deja vu as I wrote this post. Turned out there was good reason for that.

http://adiaryofamom.wordpress.com/2009/07/28/this/

I guess it’s true – plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

And dang, I am screwed when this kid goes off to college. 

walk with us

Ed note: We now return to our regularly scheduled programming, but not before I thank you again for the overwhelmingly positive response to yesterday’s post, We Shall Be Free.

I wish I could respond to your comments individually, but alas, there simply aren’t enough hours in a day. That said, I would be grateful if you would click HERE and scroll down to comment #52 to see my response to your feedback. Thank you!

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If I could, I would change the very last line in the video you’re about to see. I’d imagine that you all know me well enough by now to know that “Fix” her, even in quotes, makes me squeamish.

But this needs to be seen.

Thank you, Lou.

>

Please CLICK HERE and give what you can.

Walk with us.

For Brooke, for Bianca, for every person who struggles with the challenges of autism.

Thank you.

we shall be free

Ed note: I’m somewhat fearful about hitting publish on this post. I hope that if you disagree with what I have to say here, that you will respond thoughtfully and afford me the respect that I promise in return. I know this is a touchy subject, but it is also one about which I feel passionate. None is free until all are free.

*

I have something to say. While it’s been brewing for a while, I haven’t been entirely sure that this was the appropriate forum in which to say it. I’ve since decided that it is precisely the place that it should be said. Because at its core, it’s a message about tolerance. About compassion. About allowing ourselves to look past what we think we see and to find out what really is. It’s a message about difference. And about moving past fear into understanding. It’s a message about the world that we are creating for our children.

I’ve been somewhat obsessed with our nation’s politics in recent months. I watched the presidential candidates foam at the mouth as they’ve worked crowds into a frenzy. I’ve watched them draw battle lines, each time somehow legitimizing an ‘us’ and a ‘them’. I’ve heard them call to slash so-called entitlement programs. Do you know what ‘entitlement’ programs are? Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, Veterans’ Administration programs. I’ve heard the cheers go up in the crowd without a thought for kids like ours – who in some cases have no choice but to rely on these programs simply to live.

But more than anything, it’s the broad message of intolerance that strikes the fear of God in me. This ‘us and them’ or more accurately ‘us vs them’ mentality. This war on that which is other – that which is different – leads us nowhere but backward.

What message does it send when one of the leading candidates for the highest office in our land has described homosexuality as ‘part of Satan’? What are we saying to the gay teenager who is struggling with self-loathing, desperately afraid to come out to his family, to simply allow himself to BE who he IS, when he hears that the gay ‘lifestyle’ is ‘personal bondage, personal despair and personal enslavement’. How does he possibly reconcile that with who he is?

What confounds me the most is that it so often happens in the name of religion. We see it all the time. As far as I’m concerned, intolerance in the name of Christianity is so far perverted from the teachings of Jesus that it would be wholly unrecognizable to Him. For the life of me, I simply don’t get it.

I truly believe – from the bottom of my heart – that the only thing that can be perverse about love between two consenting adults is someone outside of it having the audacity to stand in judgement of it. That to me is perverse.

By publishing this here, in a place largely dedicated to autism advocacy, I mean in no way, shape nor form to imply that homosexuality is a disorder. Anything but. And yet, I believe that the parallels are in some ways undeniable.

We are asking people to look beyond difference. To move past the fear of that which they don’t understand. To reach the hallowed place where they are able to SEE people and celebrate the majestic glory of God’s creation from one end of its spectrum to the other.

But that won’t – can’t – ever happen if we continue to live in and propagate fear. If we continue to legitimize, even institutionalize discrimination and hate.

Please, tell the politicians to tone down the rhetoric. For God’s sake, we’ve got an example to set for our children.

When we’re free to love anyone we choose

When this world’s big enough for all different views

When we all can worship from our own kind of pew

Then we shall be free

And when money talks for the very last time

And nobody walks a step behind

When there’s only one race and that’s mankind

Then we shall be free

~ Garth Brooks, We Shall Be Free

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Amended to add  -

I originally posted the following in the comments below. I feel that it is important to highlight it here as well. 

All,

I am quite simply overwhelmed with the response thus far to this post. Your (mostly) supportive comments have buoyed my spirit and in so many ways restored my faith in our collective desire to make everyone in this world feel loved, valued and celebrated.

A couple of thoughts in response to those who shared their belief that the bible states clearly that homosexuality is a sin ..

It does.

Not what you expected?

I don’t deny that in many places (six, if I’m not mistaken) the Scriptures tell us that homosexuality (at least male homosexuality) is an abomination.

So we agree.

My problem is that the scriptures also tell us that eating shellfish is an abomination and that beating our slaves is fine as long as we don’t kill them.

If we choose to interpret the bible literally, then we must put to death those who work on the Sabbath (according to Exodus), those who curse their father or mother (as in Leviticus) and any woman who is found upon her wedding day to be anything other than a virgin (as prescribed by Deuteronomy).

So while I can’t dispute that the Scriptures call homosexuality a sin, I can make a pretty good argument for the need to read and understand them contextually. I believe that to parse out the passages that we want for a particular argument and assert that they are meant to be read literally – all while calling the others contextually dependent is hypocritical at best.

One commenter said, “So we speak truth to gay people, and we defend their dignity by persuing (sic) legislation that protects them from incurring the wrath of God by purposefully propogating (sic) and legitimizing their sin.”

I am hard pressed to follow the logic that pursuing legislation to outlaw homosexuality in any way defends the dignity of homosexual people, but more saliently, the concept of legislating religious beliefs runs contrary to the separation of church and state – the very foundation upon which this nation was built.

For those who believe that homosexuality is a choice (and a sinful one at that), I beseech you to take the time to get to know people. To see inside their world. To do exactly what we, as autism advocates ask people to do for us, for our kids. To begin to demystify the differences. To hear personal stories. To meet loving couples like my friend Randy and his husband, Mark who have been together for 34 years. To find that there is far more commonality in our experiences than difference. To find that your life will be richer for having opened your heart and your mind. To create a world where no teen thinks suicide is a better choice than telling his mom who he is.

Thank you all for reading and for contributing to the conversation with love and respect.

Warmly,

Jess

duct tape and string

Mid-May.

We are in a team meeting at Brooke’s school discussing, among other things, her summer services. The principal has decided to sit in on the meeting.

“So it’s a six-week program?” she asks, looking to Brooke’s inclusion specialist for confirmation.

She nods.

The principal addresses her next question to me and Luau.

“So is there a reason that you only send her for six weeks?”

I answer, “Yes. Because you don’t offer ten.”

The room goes momentarily silent.

Brooke’s speech and language therapist asks the next question.

“So what do you do with her for the rest of the summer?”

I turn to face her as I say, “We hold her together with duct tape and string.”

I look around the table. “If there are any other questions, I’m happy to tell you anything you’d like to know.”

Apparently there are no further questions.

Commence operation duct tape and string.

Day three.

Wish us luck.

*

Ed note: I’ve decided to give up my spot at Hopeful Parents, making today my last day there, at least for a while. I love the space, but it’s simply more than I can manage right now. I’ve asked the moderator to allow me to sublet my space to a friend and fellow autism mama. If it works out, I’ll let you know.

In the meantime, my last post is HERE .

Ed other note: On my birthday post, an awesome reader who goes by Cold Turkey (yeah, I know, best handle ever) left the following comment:

How about for your birthday we all head over to Parents.com and vote for you as the Best Special Needs Blog, because we all know you are the best. Here is the link http://blog-awards.parents.com/blog-awards/mom_blogs/407

Told ya she was awesome. Wait, I’m assuming Cold Turkey is female. Hmm. Maybe not? Cold Turkey, care to share?

In any case, I kinda love the idea of people outside of our little world joining us here on Diary. Especially new parents who might need to find this community. And really especially the ones who don’t know yet they need to find this community. Know what I mean?

So if you’re up for it, I’d be grateful if you’d log a vote for me at the link above. And while you’re there, vote for Stimey over at Stimeyland too, ok? Cause she’s an utterly fabulous autism mom – and way funnier than I am.

Ed other, other note: The editor’s notes are now officially longer than today’s post. Oops. Have a great day.

best birthday presents ever

**

So my birthday has come and gone. And as hard as it may be to believe, no one got me the pony. Or the house on Nantucket. Or George Clooney. I didn’t even get the Christian Louboutin pumps. I know! I was shocked too.

But as it turned out, my list was seriously lacking in imagination. And honestly, even if I’d put a whole lot more time into it, I’m not sure that I ever could have dreamt up the wonders that were the gifts I actually got.

Without further adieu, I present to you the best birthday presents EVER. Eat your heart out George. (I kid, I kid. Call me.)

*

*

Behold – the monogrammed potholder necklace, made by both girls – together, I’m told – and modeled by Katie.

Why a potholder on a necklace, you ask? Don’t worry, I was once similarly uninformed. But of course I now know that one needs her potholder around her neck so as to keep track of it while cooking. Duh.

It breaks my heart to think of all of the potholders that tragically went missing – such sadly preventable losses.

And there’s my initial right there on it, so that it won’t be confused with any other potholder necklaces in my kitchen. See it? It’s an ‘M’. Ya know, for Mama. Right.

*

*

Have I mentioned Katie’s label maker? We’ve got my sister to thank for that one. Thanks, Jess. (Yes, my sister’s name is Jess too, long story.)

Anyway, remind me sometime to tell you the story about the evening that Brooke followed me around all night, pointing at my rear, cracking up and saying “BUTT” again and again and I had no idea why until bedtime when I took off my shorts and found that my tush had been a victim of my older daughter’s covert labeling campaign. Yeah, that one was a doozy.

Oh, or the time that Katie wasn’t feeling well and I walked into her room to find her asleep in bed with a label stuck across her forehead that read “SICK KID – DO NOT DISTURB.”

Yup that’s my girl. Makes a mama so proud.

Wait, where was I? It had something to do with me wearing Louboutin’s while George Clooney rode up on a pony to hand me the keys to my new home on Nantucket, right? No?

Oh yeah, birthday. Sorry.

OK, so as if the monogrammed potholder necklace wasn’t enough, Katie also made me a pot of (homemade) Smelly Goody Scrubby Stuff.

I love scrubs. I’ve even made my own scrub. I don’t doubt that those of you who know me well find the preceding line somewhat hard to believe, but I swear, I really have. Katie has watched me mix raw sugar and coconut oil into body scrub. But she thought she’d add her own twist to it. No fun to do it like Mama, right? Of course right.

So she used rock salt, olive oil, cinnamon and lemon-scented essential oil. And I gotta tell ya, it really does smell quite, well, goody. However, because I like you, I’m going to tell you the following.

If your kid decides to give you smelly goody rock salt scrub stuff for your birthday, do not – I repeat, do NOT use it right after shaving your legs. Particularly if said child is inclined to stand outside your shower door watching your face and asking if you really, really love it.

You’re welcome.

Finally, a fabulous present from Luau.

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A digital photo frame for my desk at work so that I can play a slideshow of my beautiful girls all day long.

When I told him that I absolutely, positively love it and can’t wait to get it up and running he said, “Um, yeah, it’s exactly what you asked for.”

Details, details. I also asked for a pony, babe. Trust me, we don’t always get things just because we ask for em. Besides, it was a long time ago and I don’t have much room left in my brain. I’d completely forgotten about it, making for a lovely surprise. The benefits of losing one’s mind.

Last but not least, there was this. The one thing that I asked Brooke for on my birthday I got over and over and over again throughout the day, and even (as in the photo below) into the next day.

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A birthday hug.

No, Virginia, it does not get any better than that.

So perhaps George will show up next year with the keys to the summer house, the pony and the shoes. I really don’t care. For now, I’ve got everything I need right here.

http://www.walknowforautismspeaks.org/greaterboston/jess