Anyhooo…  I have nothing to blog about.  I’m heading out the door to take doggy and Boy vs 13 for a walk.  Hopefully we’ll find some decently priced blueberries out there somewhere.  And then we’re going to pick up some pectin and sugar to turn yesterday’s blackberry pickin’s into freezer jam.  What would I do without pectin and a freezer?  Actually, I’ve canned jam before, but I’m a tad low on n.r.g. this summer.

Ooooh, and I have pizza dough rising.  I’m going to try cooking it on the bbq, ’cause it is BEAST hot outside.  I’m following the advise of All Buttoned Up, in case you’d like to give it a shot.  My yeast says, “Best before April 2006″ – but I have a way with bread, so I’m not worried.

And in case you’re thinking, “Wow, Jennie C. has so much going on, I’m so impressed, blah, blah, blah.”  Well, don’t think that.  Picking a few blackberries and doing a load of laundry is about all I’ve accomplished this summer.  Seriously.

“OK,” he replied with enthusiasm and started opening the package with his teeth.

“Uh, you probably don’t want to put your mouth on that.  Do you know what a bully stick is?” I cautioned.

“No, what is it?”

“It’s a bull’s penis,” I casually informed him.

“Oh,” he pauses to think.  “So, if Maddie saw a bull, would she try to chew on his penis?”

“No, she doesn’t try to eat things that are alive.”

“Then if Maddie found a dead human, would she eat it?”

“Well, yeah, she’d probably would nibble on it.”

[long pause]

Girl vs 12 chimes in concernedly, “But we wouldn’t let her, right Mom!?”

I noticed a bit in preschool, but those are three year olds.  When I’m at the park and there’s 4 or 5 year olds I’m shocked at how grown up they seem, they can talk about everything!!  Even the intonation in his voice is extremely behind.  They even sound grown up.  They sound like boys.

Silas sounds like hes two with his childish sing songy voice.  It’s clear, it’s just…young*.

I guess sometimes I can be bright and cheery about it all but some days the weight of it just hits me like a ton of bricks.  No, he’s not there yet, no the end isn’t close in sight, yes there’s a lot more work to do.

I worry that when he gets to kindergarten that the kids will think he’s weird.  The 3 year olds didn’t care that every time he came up to them he asked their name and their age.  Didn’t bother them one bit.  I wish he could just stay with the three year olds .

And on the playground today, full of boys from 4-7 leaping and jumping and running and climbing, he was so far behind them.  Even the little girl who was younger than him was miles ahead of him in so many areas.

I know I know I know.  Don’t compare right?  But when all I see him with are three year olds, and Isaac and his cousin who’s younger and a preme…I don’t get a very good perspective of where he’s at.  Now I have it.  He’s still…three.  Except he’ll be turning five in five months.

I guess it’s better than him being three and turning twelve in five months.

See, I never can fully let myself complain about something because I always know it can be worse!!!  Then I feel guilty.

He’s just, not as close as I thought he was.  The only thing I have to compare him against is himself and he keeps going above and beyond himself every single day.

But, in the park today I almost cried.  Because my son is three and turning five.  And I have deep cuts on my hands and my back from his nails.  And because he asked the little girl her age 10 times in a row and she answered him every time.  Because there was a girl younger than him riding a 2 wheel bike.  Because all the little boys went down the playground a certain way and he got left behind cuz he couldn’t do it.  Because all the parents look at me funny when he spews out a bunch of nonsense to them.

Because today I chose to look at the negative things, and they hit me hard, like they do every time.  Because it’s a heavy load, this autism.  I think if I didn’t choose to look on the bright side most days, I’d completely sink.

*a sing songy voice is a symptom of autism

My kids moved to that side of the playground so I followed.  Then I noticed there was another boy with the man, an older boy.  He had a stick in his hand and was waving it around in front of his face.  He wasn’t playing with the other kids, he was almost dancing about as he went from bush to bush, waving the stick around…poking it into the bushes and whatnot.

At first I wondered who the boy belonged to but then I realized he looked very much like his wailing little brother.  I watched the boy as he moved over to the playground and climbed up.  He then proceeded to take his shoes and socks off and dropped them on the ground.  I heard his dad call out a comment to him about it.  Then the boy took one sock and climbed up to the highest point of the playground and watched as he moved the sock along the plastic rooftop of the playground and then threw it as far as he could.

I quietly walked over, collected the socks and shoes and brought them over to the father.

“oh thank you, you didn’t have to do that” he said as  I smiled at him.

“no problem, I know what you’re going through right now”.  He gave me a funny look and I got a little scared, maybe he didn’t know yet?  “Your child has autism right?”

“oh yes, he does.  Not this one but my other one.  How could you tell?”

“my son has autism too”

We spoke for a long long time about our boys.  His son was clearly lower functioning than Silas, very different from him.  He had mastered the art of disassembling things.  Sometimes the father will go upstairs to find all the doors off their hinges with no knobs on them.  He seemed weirded out when I exclaimed:

“Oh wow he’s got great motor skills then!”

I guess he doesn’t find it as impressive as I do?  He was impressed with Silas’ splinter skills as well and had Silas count backwards for him, which Silas gladly did.

It’s odd to me, though, that this father knew almost nothing about autism.  He hadn’t read any books, he hadn’t researched online, he didn’t know what “sensory” was or what ABA therapy was either…even though his son gets it once a week.  He’s stayed at home with his son for two years now…and knows hardly a thing!

I’m not judging him, I just don’t understand that mentality.  Innocently ignorant to the fact that this is a BIG deal!!  You could tell he was desperate, worn out, frustrated, tired.  That’s my motivation thought.  It could be at least 60% selfish.  I need the help, I need this to get easier, I need breaks from my son when he’s in therapy.  It’s just as good for the rest of us as it is for Silas.  So why wouldn’t you seek help?  Why wouldn’t you do whatever it takes to even make your own tired situation better??

People say I’m so fantastic, but honestly, a lot of it is because I need the help just as much as he does.  Luckily it works out just as well for Silas as it does for me.

I can’t say they’re completely apathetic to the situation.  They have taken him to the naturepath and such and have seen great advances.  He seemed like a very nice daddy and when our conversation was finished he had memorized the names of the supplements that worked for us and he asked over and over again what we’re doing to make Silas the way he is today.  He seemed inspired by the end of it, which is something that happens when you come across another parent in your situation.  It’s the only thing that’ll get me going sometimes, hearing other success stories.  I hope I can be that for people.

I just wanted to be near his son, though.  I almost opened my mouth and offered to volunteer to do therapy with him.  I see a child with autism, especially one with lower functioning autism and I just wanna be a part of him.  I wanna show him the beauty in the world out here and see the beauty of the world he sees around himself.  I want to tell him he’s important in this world.

There’s such wisdom in the eyes of a child with autism.  They know so much.  They see more than we do.  They understand what we say.  This father was so tired of having to watch his son 24/7, I wanted to breathe life back into him and show him the beauty in his son.  It’s so much easier to see it as an outsider who isn’t as ragged from battling this disorder.

I dunno the purpose for this post.  I felt like I needed to post it.  Not to boast about my good deeds or say I’m better than anyone.  It was just a powerful moment I had today with this man and his child.  I hope to see them again because I think we have a lot to learn from each other.

The other day my sister Juliet (pictured above) and my sister Jill decided to have a look at this old house we used to live in.  By “we” I mean mostly Mom, Mark and I.  Juliet was there for period of time when she wasn’t working for an ambulance way out in the boonies.

They found the house empty, nearly falling over with mouse poop all over the inside.  It has met it’s end and will probably soon start falling over.  This old, decrepit home holds some of my most fond memories.  It’s also the home Mark grew up in, lived when he got married and learned how to be a father in.

We moved in the summer before I began grade seven, one of the hardest years in school I ever had.  I was so bitter about this move, leaving behind all of my friends and starting a new life with two parents.  That year I had no friends, people would bully me about the way I walked, they’d tell jokes about me behind my back and set me up to make mistakes so they had something to hold against me.  I won the library helpers award that year, it was easier to “hide” in the library than face my peers on the school grounds.

My home life wasn’t much easier.  I had a super hard time adjusting to having another parent.  I didn’t like being told what to do and I was as stubborn as a mule.  I’m sure it was Mark who had the hardest year though, what a brat I was.

The easiest part about this new life of mine was this old house.  We had visited it many times throughout my childhood.  It sat on around 200 acres of fields and forest, rivers and ponds….heaven.  There were barns and cabin, cows and horses, three big dogs and two lovely cats.

The house itself leaned to the side a bit.  It was dusty, old, mouse ridden and drafty.  Everything about it was old and ugly…including the indoor/outdoor carpet on almost every square inch of the floor.  In the winter it was heated only with firewood.  It was everything opposite of perfect and yet, with all it’s imperfections, it WAS perfect.

My room was up in the peak of the house.  My walls slanted almost down to the floor and I would listen to the mice scurry up and down it at night.  When Juliet was home we’d giggle as we’d see them run across my floor, or we’d giggle about other things…things big sisters shouldn’t tell their younger sisters about .

My favourite part about that house was the space it sat upon.  So much space.  I would go on long bike rides and come home wet and muddy from whatever pond I found and decided to explore.  Andy and I once found the BEST fishing hole and we went there often to catch little trout.  I remember long walks through the fields, sledding down the hills in the winter, climbing fences to get on to the chicken coup roof, running around on the long hay bale stacks in the fields.  There was so much freedom there to do what I liked.

So many fond memories.  We had the best new years ever there one year where all of us siblings were together and we all stayed up late making a conehead snowman family in the dark.  We all agree it was our favourite new years.  I remember watching the cows give birth to their calves as I sat and watched out my living room window.  Feeding this horse carrots because it would always make a really funny face.  I remember getting into a hornets nest with my brother and getting squashed by a snowcave I had made (Mark rescued me after hearing my muffled screams).  I remember the peony bushes along the side of the house.  I used to have HOURS of fun playing on the giant propane tank and the fence, coming up with new tricks as I pretended I was an acrobat.  Long bike rides with the dogs who always made sure I was safe.  Trying to spear the fish in the river with my brother (doesn’t work).  Finding a sick cow and bringing her water and food and shoveling the poop away from her bum every day until the people who owned her “delt” with her.

There’s so many more memories I could share…

I only lived there a few years until my parents decided to buy their own home (we were living in this one even though the property had been sold to new people).  I love that home as well but I don’t think about it the way I think about the old house.  I often dream about it and I’m so calm and happy and content in those dreams, I never want to wake up.  Despite all of it’s flaws, I would move back there in a second (if it wasn’t about to fall down of course).  I love how it shows me that it doesn’t matter if your countertops are granite or the old kind (complete with mouse droppings every morning).  Shiny hardwood floors have no significance.  Beautiful carpets?? who needs them??.

When I think back to that home I don’t think about all the sadness I was feeling from the massive changes in my life and dealing with the kids at school.  I just think of how much joy living under that roof brought me, mice and all.

Crust below the kitchen table, dishes getting smelly by the sink, hair products and makeup all over my bathroom countertops.  There’s dust bunnies in every corner and random items strewn about here and there.  A thick layer of dust covers most every surface and the walls have bits of whatever the kids ate then touched the wall with last…year.

Dirty clothes are everywhere and the clean ones thrown in a pile in the corner.  Unfolded. Obviously.

Every inch of my house, except for the inside of my fridge, is filthy.  I am a disgusting individual.

Thankfully I’ve watched shows like Hoarders and How Clean Is Your House which make me feel a kajillion times better.  THAT, my friends, is rock bottom.  My house is nowhere near that state but still, I’m grossing myself out completely.

I think I’m missing something in my brain.  The something where cleaning is like…something I think of doing.  I’ll go get something out of the fridge and not put anything away.  I just walk away without thinking twice.  I do the same thing in the bathroom, bedroom, livingroom.  Everywhere.  I just don’t think to clean up after myself.  I’ll do the laundry one week and don’t realize it’s piling up again until the week after.  Then I’m overwhelmed.  *sigh*

Something strange needs to happen in my brain before it’s easy for me to clean up.  It’s really really really really hard for me to force myself to do something I don’t want to do…or I don’t have any motivation to do.  I don’t know if I’ve EVER done something I didn’t want to do…or wasn’t very motivated to do.  Is that weird?  I read that people with ADD have a very hard time accomplishing unfavorable tasks.  I understand that very very very well.  I don’t get how people can just get up and clean.  They must have some weird motivation I’m not finding whatsoever.

I’m incredibly inconsistent….BUT….I’m not being down on myself.  I’m more just baffled with myself.  But, my own oddities help me understand other people’s oddities.  Just stand up and go clean the kitchen.  Just get up an exercise.  Just stop buying cigarettes.  Just stop feeding your body crap.  Just DON’T buy that thing you love but can’t afford.  Just stop dating stupid men.  Just don’t pick up the bottle of beer.  Just don’t turn on the TV for your kids.  Just don’t buy that bag of chips.  Just drink 8 glasses of water a day.  Just eat the carrot.  Just eat supper together as a family.  Just write that resume.

Just….just just just just just.

Always makes things sound simple doesn’t it?

I think I’m inspired to clean my kitchen now.  What’s my inspiration??  Not feeling like an ass (again) when my husband gets home and sees the mess.

Just leave a comment would ya.

There’s a pub near my house where I’ve always wanted to work.  Mostly because it’s right by my house, and it’s a beautiful building.  I noticed my co-worker from a coffee shop we worked at eons ago was working there so I inquired about whether or not they were hiring.  Turns out he is the manager now and he told me he needs my resume asap.  So, despite being completely nervous about it, I sent it to him.  The next day he calls me up and sets up an interview!

At the interview I find out there’s 60 other people who have applied for this position, yikes.  I have zero serving experience but because of what he had seen of me at the coffee shop, he know I could handle it.  Plus he trusted me.

I have to tell you about this coffee shop.  It was owned and managed by this lawyer, who knew nothing about coffee or coffee shops OR how to run and manage one.  He had no clue how to do anything behind the counter or anything.  My first week of working there I was working ALONE and we were showing a movie (we had foreign film nights).  I believe my now boss had left because he said no one would be coming to this movie…but like 15 people showed up wanting specialty coffee, dinner, desserts, etc.  I had to make it ALL.  I got it done.  By the end I could whip up food and coffee and everything in NO time.  I knew that shop in and out and could get food out fast…esp under those circumstances.

So, he hired me .  I started two weekends ago and I was super nervous about serving because I hadn’t done it before.  I haven’t worked in almost 5 years.  That’s scary.

I’ve fallen into the groove really easily.  I’m loving having a place to go in the evenings, getting a few hours off from my kid and household duties.  I love having a job I WANT, not a job I NEED.  It’s more for having extra cash here and there.  My payday is opposite of Brent’s so now we wont have an empty bank account for a week before Brent gets paid again.  The tips are nice because now I always have cash on hand.  It’s nice.

On Saturday night we had a group of 25 suddenly come to the door.  The bartender was in charge that night and he had me hand out poker chips with #’s to everyone…which would be their number for their bills and then start taking their orders.  They were all standing around in the lounge, mingling while we got their tables ready.  I got them their numbers, got their drink orders, remembered who had what and brought it all back to them.  The bartender and I had it all done within minutes and i was beginning to go around again asking if people wanted more.  It felt so good and easy.  Everyone was at their best that night and it went so smoothly!!  The waitress said that was the best service she’s ever been a part of.  It was great.

After I had finished everything for the night, the bartender called me over and we had a chat.  He told me I had completely shocked him tonight with how I just threw myself into that crowd of people and got the job done flawlessly when I had no experience.  He went on and on about how impressed he was with me and blah blah blah.  Amazing compliment.  I felt like a million bucks.

I really like it there.  We all work so well as a team.  We pick up the slack for eachother if we have nothing to do and we all get along really well.  Everyone is trustworthy.  I like it.

I’m really glad to be working again.  It feels good and its fantastic for my self esteem to be bringing home more money and to actually be getting real paychecks again.  I love it.

I also scored another job a few days before that which I am really excited about.  I’ll be working in one of the local farmers market for an organic farmer, selling her veggies   It’s from 7am – 2 every other saturday.  I get paid $10 an hour…which is great because it’s more than min wage and she’ll give me leftover veggies and about 75% off veggies I want to buy.  All organic!!  I’m pretty stoked.  I like being a part of supporting local growers and buyers.  It’s so eco!!  I loves it.  I’m going to be exhausted on saturdays but I’m liking keeping busy .  Brent’s not terribly impressed that i’m doing two jobs but poo on him.  I think it’s fantastic ha ha ha.

Anyway…I’m back to being a tax payer

Brent and I met with the school principle, his Kindergarten teacher, the resource room teacher, Silas’ Supported Child Development worker, the autism coordinator for the school district and with our behavior consultant.  It was an intimidating meeting to walk in to but I was glad I had Silas’ BC on one side and my husband on the other.

At first they wanted me to just talk about Silas.  Everything about him.  I didn’t know where to start but then everything came spilling out.  All this terminology that I’ve been learning, all the important things about autism and HIS autism specifically.  It all spilled out of my mouth in one graceful disgorge.  I was proud of myself.  I sounded educated.  It was kinda neato.

We told them everything they ever could need to know about Silas.  Brent, the BC, the SCD and I all know Silas very very very well.  Great things were spoken about my son…as well as some things hard to hear…but good to know.

Then it was the lady from the district’s turn to speak.  The big news, what I’d been waiting for in the weeks leading up to this meeting.  I’m about to hear what sort of support Silas would be getting in Kindergarten.

I expected nothing.  Our government has made SO many cuts to education that it makes me sick.  A teacher having to teach 3 grades at once with more than one special needs child in the class and NO aids.  I know this woman personally and she’s exhausted.  It’s happening in British Columbia and it’s a disgrace.  After talking with this woman I was hopeless for Silas in his classroom.

So the woman goes over her findings from observing him in his preschool.  She felt that Silas’s needs were such that she got him MORE support that they typically have for children as verbal and as high functioning as he.  MORE SUPPORT!  So he’ll have an SLP with him in class, all week, all class except for one half hour.

My eyes welled up, I was THRILLED!!  I am just….thrilled.  I’ve been SO happy with how my city supports children with autism.  So so so so so so happy.  *GRIN*

So, we came up with a bunch of strategies for Silas.  He will be leaving his class to go to the resource teachers room for extra things INCLUDING an enrichment program that will be discussed when we get together his IEP.  He will be having two SLP’s (aids) which they were pondering doing until Silas’ BC and I spoke up and said we WANT two because the more personalities that are working with him the better.  SO those two will alternating days with him.  Perfect.

We’ve also planned that he will be a peer helper with his classmates, helping them learn basic things that he knew back when he was like…2.  Helping them learn their ABC’s and their counting and so on and so on.  They’re also going to get a social group together via the resource room.

This really shouldn’t have been so smooth.  I was ready for a fight and I never got it.  Not at all.  I understand this is a blessing and I feel for all the parents that have to do nothing but fight for their kids.  I know I’m lucky in this regard, in many many many areas.

Anyway….woot much?

—-> this is me

photo taken from www.peoplespressnews.com

I want to badly to live in a way in which I can try to be more self sustainable.  Have a few chickens, a goat to milk, a big garden and fruit trees.  If I have space for these things I would so do it SO happily.  Extra space = extra opportunities to be more self sufficient and help our Earth because there’s no emissions that happen getting food from my back yard to my dinner plate.

Oh how I wish.

I have a postage stamp of a back yard and, with the help of my husband, am turning it into the tiniest little food making facility ever.  No I can’t have a goat…or chickens …but I sure can plant veggies and compost.  My husband just built me cedar boxes which maximize the space I have and I’m planning on filling them with foods and flowers.  I just bought two blueberry bushes and am planning on a few dwarf fruit trees.  Maybe I should just pull up the grass and make the whole thing a garden

It’s just not much space

Ohhhh how I dream about space.  But space here = LOTS of money.  When I see homes with so much unused yard I just map out how I would plan it, how I would make it into my own little earth friendly food factory.  Overloading myself with fresh organic veggies and leaving bunches of it on my neighbours door steps.  Ahhhh to dream.

I have been reading books about how to do back yard homesteading.  They even teach you how to grow your own hops and make your own beer…grow your own wheat and make it into bread.  I’m not THAT crazy.  Although I might be capable of being THAT crazy.  I am planning on making my own hard apple cider soon.  I’m waiting for fresh fall apples.

Raising my own meat would be too hard for me too.  Maybe chickens…but I dunno.  I just fall so much in love with animals that I probably couldn’t handle it.  But I’m very much ok with hunting and fishing…if my freaking brother ever would bring me hunting with him!!!!  Grrrrrrrr.

It just sucks that because I didn’t buy a house 5 years before I did…because well…I was a teenager…that I’m forced to live in a tiny tiny house and pay WAY more for it than my sister did for her big house with a massive back yard!!!

No fair no fair no fair.

But I am thankful for a roof over my head and a back yard for my kids to be safe in.  If I ever have more I promise you I will definitely make the most of it.  I don’t want space to flaunt it, to feel cooler or to keep up with the Jones’.  I want space to grow, to share, to entertain and to nurture my life, my family and my Earth.

Anyway…

How was your long weekend?  The majority of mine was spent moping about because I was sick.  I thought it was food poisoning but I still feel sick to my tum tums so I think it was a bit of a flu.  It was JUST in my tummy though.

Saturday night I had some sushi then hung out with friends.  Just as they were leaving I started feeling REAL yucky.  I went to bed and started waking up from nausea.  Every time I moved it would hit me soooo hard.  I finally went to the bathroom and my body violently ridded itself of all contents.  Sushi and wine are NOT tasty 7 hours later…especially not so nice coming out of the nose.

My husband, Lord bless him, has come up with an amazing system for my puking.  Seeing as though he’s had to deal with a lot of my puke in the past because of pregnancies and whatnot.

You know you don’t have much control over your bowels (esp with the flu) when puking and he was tired of cleaning out puke pans so one day he handed me a grocery bag and it’s been the go-to-no-clean-puke-solution for a while now.  Puke in the grocery bag while sitting on the can, tie grocery bag and put in garbage.  Voila…no fuss no mess.  Well…no fuss for him.

He’s been a real trouper when it’s come to my puke though.  When pregnant with Silas I was EXTREMELY ill.  For about 7 months I puked daily (how did I still get to over 200 pounds then?) and often.

One night I was laying in bed and I could taste onion from the salad dressing I had made for supper.  The taste of it in my mouth sent me over the edge and I ran to the bathroom but it was locked because Brent was showering.  What married man with no kids showers with the door locked?  Anyway,  I bash on the door and tell him I’m gunna puke but it’s too late so I ran to the kitchen and puked in to the sink…he ran out of the shower and let me in the bathroom and so I went there and proceeded to puke everywhere but the toilet.

For the next long while Brent was cleaning up after me.  He began by ladle-ing my puke out of the kitchen sink into a soup can.  Yup, soup ladle and can, perfect tools for puke clean up.

Have I grossed you out yet?

I’m lucky to have a man who never makes me clean up my puke.

But this Saturday I did clean up my own puke, it WAS 4am and all.  I thought and thought about whether I should tell him and I decided to just let him know I was sick because he’ll be more on guard and sometimes I tend to be a bit passy outtie when I’m pukey.  (Cleo, it’s really hard to type here with your head on my HAND).

“Brent?? Brent..? Breeeeennnnnttt!!”

“huh????”

“Brent I’m sick I just puked”

“you are?”

“ya I thought I should just tell you…”

“snnnnnoooorrrreeee”

“ok nevermind”

Oh well.  Once out of like 800 times…he doesn’t have to come to my rescue.

I’m still feeling icky though, it’s not very fun.  I’m very wimpy when I’m sick and I’m trying to not be bothered by it today because I can’t stand my husband waiting on me for too long.  I feel too guilty.  So I’m keeping my mind off it by cleaning…fun