Yogurt and Bloggery

Some blogs will show you handsomely executed works of homemaking art. Recipes and sewing projects and sparkling clean children obeying their parents.

Do I sound disgruntled yet? I was talking bloggery with a friend last night and she said she skips over those blogs. I skip over them, too, unless I'm feeling unusually ambitious. It's depressing to compare yourself to another woman and realize that she's just better at everything.

 I joked that no one would never have to worry about that on my blog.

 And I hereby publicly declare, that you will never read my blog and think, "she's good at everything." Just the important things!

 Here are the things I am good at:

• Spelling - but you will probably still typos and missed wrods (ha ha see what I did their)
• Making fun of myself - but I'm kind of an easy target
• Making fun of other people - probably not a good thing
• Driving - Like most drivers, I am above average
• Figuring out why you have a problem with your insurance policy - limited usefulness
• Cooking meat - which I have to take on faith, because I'm a vegetarian

Here are the things I am bad at:

• Cooking rice - unless you like crunchy rice
• Cleaning things  -  I cannot tell you how many times my husband had walked over and started cleaning something. That I had just cleaned. I swear.
• Making small talk - I am the queen of awkward silences. I've come to enjoy them. It's cruel. Maybe I should put that I am good at awkward silences instead of I am bad at small talk? Hmm.
• Being assertive - I do it, but badly. It's either the "actually no I will not put up with this" red-faced whisper-voiced stutter, or the "I've put up with this quietly for a long time and today I am a fire-breathing dragon and you are toast" hysterical victory
• Recognizing people - I have a really hard time recognizing people's faces, unless they are sitting in the exact same place I saw them last time and wearing the same clothes and shoes and drinking out of the same Dunkin Donuts cup.
• Buying people presents they'll like - see This Post
• Leading children in song - which fortunately, I am only called upon to do every two weeks.

But every now and then, the homemaking bug hits me, so I decided to make yogurt last night, in my crockpot. I had done it before and it usually turned out, plus, I followed the directions, mostly. Michael called me this morning and informed me that it was just lukewarm milk. SIGH. It sure wasn't this post, which begins, You can make Yogurt in your crockpot! You can! You really, really can! I can't! I really, really can't... necessarily, all of the time, except in theory.

Oh and Elliott flushed a sock down the toilet, and tried to stop himself but his hand had a mind of its own and listened instead to the sock which, he stated, desired to be flushed.

That Darn Cat

That Darn Cat, who also goes by Kristof, is a mere ten years in age but seems to have the habits and struggles of a cat much older and far more decrepit.

When we lived at my parents' house, he seemed to have a problem with peeing. He also didn't get along with their cat. Their cat wasn't exactly a peach, either, but their cat is not the point. He doesn't have many teeth, so his food has to be soft and mush. His food STINKS.  The other thing about having no teeth is that the drool just falls out of his mouth, puddling wherever he may happen to be. That is something I can live with. It's being sprayed with cat saliva every time he sneezes or shakes his head that makes me scream. Literally. How do you NOT scream when tuna-infused drool splatters against your cheek.

But in spite of all that, my dad grew to have a little relationship with him. Kristof would sit on his knee and purr, and my dad would pet his head. Dad would him what a great cat he was, even though he drooled every where and smelled. Mom would shake her head.

Now that we are at our new house, the problem is the other type of accident. First it started showing up in Elliott's bathtub. So we kept the bathroom door closed. Then it showed up in the closet under the stairs and the guest room. So we started keeping ALL the doors closed.

But it is a little hard to live in a house and keep all of the doors closed all of the time.

Last night we found a pile in Elliott's room, just as we were putting him to bed. I guess it had actually been there a while, because I asked Elliott about it and his response was, "Yes, it's been there, but I DIDN'T DO IT!"

Michael cleaned it up, muttering about how he was just going to stop feeding the cat because then we wouldn't have this problem. It seems Elliott overheard.

This morning, that darn cat was doing that annoying thing where he asks to be fed by way of smashing his head into my shins and darting between my legs.

"Don't feed him, Mom," Elliott advised, with great concern. "He'll go poop again if you keep feeding him!"

"I have to feed him, sweetie, or he would die, and that would be a terrible thing to do."

Believe it or not, I was sincere when I said that, just as I'm sure Elliott was sincere when he looked at me with wide eyes and exclaimed,   "We can't let him die! Poppop would miss him."

Here, pick a label!

Ah, basketball! The cheerful sound of a ball slam-slam-slamming incessantly on the floor. The energetic screeching of sneakers. The thumpity-thumping of little feet crashing across the room like a herd of angry miniature horses. Children yelling joyfully, parents barking at them to "pay attention."

Nothing here that could possibly overstimulate the child with ... unique sensory processing. Nope, nothing at all.

But what do you do if that child DOES become overstimulated?

It's time for the first ever round of What Kind of Special Needs Mom Are You?, a blog post comprised primarily of questions.

Do you tell people about an "invisible disability?" And when is it appropriate? Do you gather everyone together and boom "YOU NEED TO KNOW THIS" or do you pull someone aside and whisper?

Or do you just put an autism awareness shirt on your kid and figure it'll be obvious that way?
Easy Out Mom

Do you just wait and see whether your son manages to pass as normal?
Anything Could Happen Mom

Do you come armed with educational materials about autism in order to head it off at the pass?
Activist Mom

Do you remain within arm's length at all times in an attempt to control his behavior?

Helicopter Mom

Do you back off in the hopes that he will pay more attention to the coaches than he does to you, the parent?
Wishful Thinking Mom

Do you mention it, apologetically, to the mom who seems frustrated that her kid got paired up with YOURS?
Shame on you, Mom. Shame on you both.

Do you mention it, optimistically, to the mom of the kid you think is also special needs?
Nosey Mom

Do you just nod when someone sympathetically reassures you that he'll "get better at sharing" if you keep coming back?

Weary Mom

Do you wait until your son is crying with his face pressed against the floor because he didn't make a basket and he doesn't get to pick up the purple cone and run it across the gym and get a high five for making a "point"?
Frazzled Mom

Do you wait until the meltdown at the water fountain? Everyone's watching ... it would be a great time for a public announcement.
Monologue Mom

Do you tell them while he's having a meltdown because it's time to leave and he wants to stay in his gym clothes... his shorts... even though it's January and freezing outside?
Mom with the Frozen Kid


I, of course, did not utter the word "autism" or "Asperger's." I hate labels.

Elliott Says (part 4)

Noticing a Trio creation left lying in the living room, I pick it up and observe the handle and long muzzle. I come to an obvious conclusion.

"MUST little boys make everything into guns??" I sigh, exasperated, and turn to my husband and son who are sitting on the couch.

"Mommy, you found my pretend flute!"

Elliott rushes over to rescue his precious instrument.

Toodly kazoo noises follow.