Sad farewell

My best friend is moving to Hawaii tomorrow. In the 20 years that Autumn and I have been friends she has visited family in Hawaii many times and she also lived there for several years at one time... but she always came back here. So I think I still haven't accepted the fact that she's actually moving there for real this time. We spent the day with her and her family yesterday so that our kids, who have grown up together, could have one last day of fun. Jackson and Keana were kind enough to pose for a few photos at the end of the day

Another good friend joined in the photo shoot so that we could give Autumn and her family a proper send-off



We love you. We'll miss you. Come back and see us soon.

Fun with fundi

My midwife appointment yesterday revealed that I'm measuring small for my date. A measurement taken from my pubic bone to the top of my uterus, or fundus, should come close in centimeters to the number of weeks that I am pregnant. But yesterday's measurement showed no change over that of the previous measurement 4 weeks ago. I had a sneaking suspicion that this could have had something to do with the fact that this baby seems to be stretched out across my belly instead of in a head up or down position. If she's horizontal, or transverse, then so too is my uterus which would make for a lower fundal height. Well, I should have left it at that. Instead the midwife and I decided to take a quick look on ultrasound just to be safe. Sure enough, baby is transverse and measuring just perfectly for my due date but.... my amniotic fluid is on the low end of normal. You might recall the puke fest that we had going on here last week and it's taken a while for my appetite to return to normal so it's entirely possible that I just need to increase fluids and nutrients. But the midwife left me with another recommendation: try to limit activity this week. Ha! I know I shouldn't laugh because it's a great recommendation and low amniotic fluid can turn into a serious problem, but, ha! Just getting a resistant and squirming Sam dressed in the morning is an aerobic workout. I go back next week for another check-up so we'll see how well I've done.

Peanut butter and honey on toast

That had been David's puke-friendly (now there's a hyphenated word you don't see too often) breakfast selection. I chose it for the following morning when I began feeling nauseous and, you know, it didn't taste too bad coming back up later on that day. Well chosen. Pairing it with a glass of sprite made the experience none too unpleasant. All in all a 5 star upchucking affair.

Strawberries and green beans.

So the boys have been puking this week. It started with Sam throwing up the entire undigested contents of his lunch; since he eats mashed foods anyway, the pureed green beans and tofu looked pretty much the same coming up as they did going down. He seemed pretty surprised by the whole experience but not entirely disturbed. I guess when you're three years old and have been through as much as Sam, green liquid bursting forth from your mouth and nose is just to be expected. He took it all in stride.

Then last night, after Sam had gone a full 24 hours puke free, Jackson started up. Now Jackson has only puked once in his life and that was over 5 years ago when he was a mere babe. So you can imagine that he might find the experience a bit more distressing when chunks of strawberries came flying uncontrollably out of his mouth. He had been asleep for about an hour when the upheaval started. David and I ran into his room to hear him cry, "It just won't stop. It keeps coming. I can't stop it!" After things had calmed down and I had gotten him into the bath he was still very worried that he would start throwing up again. I found myself reassuring him that it was perfectly okay to let the pink chunks of fruit fall freely from his mouth into the toilet or the bowl we had provided. And I thought, lucky boy to have had strawberries as the last thing he'd eaten; I'm sure that was a lot more pleasant coming up than green beans and tofu.

This morning David and I both chose to stray from our usual breakfast of cereal with milk. I eyed his peanut butter and jelly toast while he took in my waffle with strawberries.
"I'm choosing my food based on what I think might taste best coming back up... just in case."
"Ha! Me too."

If it's yellow...

Jackson has a hard time remembering to flush the toilet after using the bathroom and like that funny little guy on Ally McBeal, I like a fresh bowl. I've been reminding him for years to flush but it still hasn't sunk in. If I catch him coming out of the bathroom and tell him to go back and flush he acts like I've asked him to give up one of his kidneys to a sick relative he's never met. To make matters worse, our toilets are those environmentally friendly low-flow types that back up if anything larger than a grape tries to go down and frequently require several flushes to rid the bowl of all waste. So I find myself checking in on our toilets a few times a day to make sure there's nothing lingering; this way we can actually go for more than a day or two between cleanings without something starting to grow in there. Not sure I was really going anywhere with this just thought it was time to include a post about toilets.

A curious parting

Yesterday morning the boys and I were pulling out of the garage on the way to school while David waved from outside the car. I rolled down the rear window and Jackson yelled, "Bye Dad! Hope the seafood's fresh!"

The adventures of super turkey

I believe it was in 6th grade that I learned how much I enjoyed writing. I wrote a story called The Adventures of Super Turkey - it must have been some Thanksgiving themed writing - and it was picked by Mr. Reppard to be read in front of the class. Although I didn't think the story to be too shabby I was still nervous as hell to read it in front of a class full of unforgiving, pre-pubescent peers. The story full of humor and, well... adventure, was met with friendly laughter and applause.

That was 20 years ago and I've done a lot more writing since then, though never again about a turkey. All along the way my writing has been met with favorable response by friends, family and professors. I even dared once to enter a poem in a contest held by a local paper and won second place. Despite the years of praise I still often wonder, "Does anyone really enjoy reading this crap I write?" And apparently from the emails, phone calls and other various comments the answer is "yes." So thank you to everyone who reads and enjoys my writings, and especially to those who tell me how cool my blog is. Twenty years of stroking just hasn't been enough for my ego.

Welcome to the ghetto

A little over 3 years ago David and I were thrust into a world we could have never imagined. The day Sam was born was the beginning of a new life for our family. We were bombarded with advice from well meaning friends and acquaintances; some of these people had experience with this new world, but most did not. The support of these people was amazing, invaluable and something for which I am eternally grateful; but their advice always missed the mark. We also were visited by "professionals" who came bearing books and essays to help us understand and cope with our new life. One of the supposedly helpful materials given to us was a little essay called Welcome to Holland. Now I don't know what disability the child of the author had but I have to believe that it must be something mild if she chose Holland to use as her metaphor. If I were to write a similar piece I would probably title it Welcome to the Ghetto. You boarded that plane expecting to arrive in beautiful Italy only to find yourself exiting a urine soaked cab as some transient holds a gun to your head. Realizing your roundtrip ticket was mistakenly issued as one-way, you don't shrug your shoulders and learn to love your new home; instead you vow to fire your travel agent and find a way to Italy. Unfortunately the transient made off with your cell phone and all you credit cards. While I'd love to be in Italy or, hell even Holland, I have learned to love my ghetto life. But David and I have still had to find our own way of surviving in the hostile new place we found ourselves and no fluffy book on special needs children or clever essay on accepting our new life helped. Actually, I believe most of this well meaning material and advice only fueled the fire for our favorite coping mechanism: black humor. Some of the stuff that came out of our mouths shocked even us which made it that much funnier. Unfortunately, there are quite a few people who would love to see us tarred and feathered for some of the comments we've made. One mom on the Joubert Syndrome list I belong to wrote that there should be a special place in hell for anyone who uses the word "retard." Which I just think is... well, retarded. And I maintain my right to use that word when it makes an almost unbearable situation just a bit humorous for David and me, or if the word conjures up the appropriate image with all the social stigma attached to drive home a point.

And all this was leading up to explaining the real meaning behind the "2.7 kids" in the blurb beneath my blog title and its reference to Sam's incomplete brain. Even though it was damn funny to me and David at one point it still seems a bit callous when written here. Now I shall take my children, properly assembled and not, and go into hiding for awhile.