I ran across a blog this weekend that wasn’t a blog at all – it was a teaser site, trying to tempt me into paying a fee to read the actual content. I snorted and clicked the X.

Wasn’t long before I surfed my way into a plea on another site… please pay me or else this free site hosted by this free server written on this free content manager goes bye bye. I raised a curious eyebrow, then snorted and clicked the X.

The next morning, I decided to sort through the shitstorm that was once my email inbox. Among the notes, was one that caused my eye to twitch. Glad you found a solution and ended the silence. Before you try leaving for real, you should write a book so I’ll never be without my daily fix.

Now, first of all, I recognize that email for what it is – and I appreciate it. Really, I do. I know it’s a common sentiment that is spread to a great many of the reads on my list as well. They see it every day in their comments and emails. And while I can’t speak to their reactions, I do know that every second a new fantastic read worthy of such an email is created, thanks to The Blog, and it thrills me to no end.

But I won’t pay to read a blog. Not ever. I wouldn’t insert a quarter into my friend’s ass to hear her speak about her newest sexual conquest as she enjoys the single life, and I refuse to pay to hear anyone else blather on with the assumption that their life somehow merits paid admission.

It’s not true that every blog author wants to be a writer. I don’t. The only part of me that ever wanted to be a writer died a very long time ago in the first week of a sophomore Honors English class when MissPinch couldn’t bleed all over my critique as she was accustomed to given her infinite wisdom, got pissy instead, and dealt the death blow by scrawling Your Words? across the top and I decided that day that I wanted no part of such a nasty little world where the first instinct was to go for the throat of anyone making an attempt at writing music – because that’s what it’s always been for me. Certain words produce a certain click or a certain clack and when you put them together, you can make beautiful music. And the amazing part is, that as the words fall into that rhythmic singsong, new layers of thought come to light, and fresh connections within the piece can be seen and it sends a tingle up my spine ….. and oh it’s really nothing more than a stupid human trick.

Besides, placing all your eggs in an artistic based basket is dangerous, in my opinion. It’s a well just waiting to dry up. No one knows initially how many yarns they have to spin. No way of telling of many Starry Nights they have up their sleeve. Add in the sudden pressure to produce, and you have created instant blockage. No thanks.

I will never write a book. I’m not book-writing material.
I will never charge anyone to read this blog. I’m not that self bloated.
I will never ask anyone who read this blog for one thin dime to be thrown my way for any reason.

Then again, I’d take watching a high school football game over tickets to the Superbowl anyday. And even though it makes me increasingly nervous to see what lengths networks will go to for that getcha factor when creating new ideas for reality based tv shows, I can understand the reasoning behind why most people would rather watch real life unfold before their eyes than to line the pockets of yet another actor who won’t agree to do their job of fucking make believe for less than twenty million dollars.

Every day, I will find another obscure writer that humbles and delights me with their private thoughts, and every day another blog author will hang out the For Hire shingle.

And I’ll keep snorting and clicking the X.

MB5 is starting to worry me.

He’s almost 14 months old, and he seems physically perfect. He’ll be walking before long. He seems socially adjusted. He is shy around strangers, but doesn’t go stiff as a board and get damn near catatonic when others pick him up like MB4 used to. He is such a happy child, always laughing. He sleeps pretty good, and seems on track in terms of solids and such.

But he doesn’t talk. At all. He babbles a bit here and there, but it seems there should be more by now. He can make the maamaa sound, but that’s all it is. It’s not directed at me, nor is it even the same word each time. Just a combo of haphazard shit thrown as he wanders off to play with a toy. Same with daadaa. And that’s it. There are no other ‘words’. It sounded like he was saying MB1’s name a few months ago, but he hasn’t duplicated that little trick since.

If it was just the fact that he has no words yet, maybe I wouldn’t have that nagging feeling in my gut. But he doesn’t shake his head no. He doesn’t grab at toys to even attempt to demonstrate that mine shit that most little ones his age would be doing now when faced with the idea of sharing the toys. He doesn’t respond to my no’s at all. I get an innocent smile, and he takes it as his cue to crawl over and nuzzle with me. He seems to hear just fine, but I get blank stares and smiles when I ask him to give me a kiss or say byebye or if I ask him where daddy is.

I’ll give him until his 18 month appointment before I totally flip the fuck out about it.
Just partial flip mode in the meantime.

The kids have been learning a few valuable lessons the past couple of months with MD working these crazy ass hours….

They’re starting to understand that more isn’t always better. That money may not buy happiness after all. They know these extra hours mean more cash, but they’d rather have dad home instead. I’m glad to hear them say things like that.

They’re learning to be careful about what they wish for. Last year, they were hoping that dad worked enough hours to afford sending them all to camp that summer. This year, they’re hoping to see him for even a few hours on the weekend.

I’m hoping that these lessons will carry with them as they grow up, but I realize that’s probably wishful thinking. They’ll have to relearn this same shit on their own, in their own way, and in their own time at some point in their adult lives in order to make it stick – and some people never do.

I know it took me awhile, and I still have to check myself every day. To remind myself that these weeks are only making me appreciate the time we do have together even more. To remember that these kind of paychecks don’t happen along every day, and to use them wisely. To realize that if the rest of us make some adjustments and shift just a little, things could be relatively normal when MD is home with us. To remember that it ain’t about having it all. It’s about having enough.

Ok. Now maybe I can start to digest the news that MD shared over dinner.
At least nine days in TN.
…………………………………….
…………………………………….
…………………………………….
Nope, still not ready.

I called Monday to make an appointment for another stupid sinus infection. Today was the day. Thank gawd I wasn’t in pain or anything. Doc told me I looked good. Healthy.

Wild pissed off donkey noises started coming out of my mouth as I tried to make her TakeItBack. Take back the kiss of death. No woman wants to be called healthy. Healthy is for Horses.

She started flipping through my file when I claimed to be the victim of a horrible pound packing disease. She paused for a second to read a page and then said ‘119 in October – that’s perfect. For your height, you are just perfect between 115 and 135.‘. She flipped back to the top page and I witnessed her face contort as she swallowed her foot and stammered out that those are just generic guidelines and that everyone is different.

139 point 9 today. Yay me.

I knew I would fight the desire to smoke for a long time to come, but I just assumed the push would come from addiction – not fucked up logic.

Think I have the issues taken care of. Archives are safely tucked away for my eyes only. From here on out, shouldn’t make a shit’s difference who finds me. Sensitive dirt dishing will take place elsewhere.

And no, I’m not saying where. If you find it, fine. But I ain’t pointing it out.

My oldest is now 14, which makes me a fossil.

MB4 starts private speech therapy today. Also has a new psychiatrist to meet next week. Hope this one is better than the last clown. We’re back to having trouble with him again – this time he cannot stop from correcting MG. From riding her ass about following the rules or saying it wrong or singing it right or admitting some truth that only he understands or gives a shit about or or… Unfortunately, she’s my daughter, and she’s 3. Her entire life is filled with mispronunciations, silly interpretations, and smartass comments meant to drive him batshit. I spend my day trying to keep them apart so he doesn’t get set off. I have exhausted my pathetic bag of tricks. I need help.

My appointment is a week from today, but there are insurance woes. They sent the registration paperwork for me to review, and I didn’t recognize the name. They assigned me one of the doctors not on my provider list. Should hear back from them today to find out how they are going to dick me over this time. Maybe I’ll get to wait 3 months for an appointment instead of just 2.

I’m still exercising and not eating snacks and watching portions and drinking water. So someone tell me why I gained 5 fucking pounds, would ya?

Damn, I’m tired.

MD got home tonight around 9pm. Just enough time to eat, get cleaned up, and head to bed so he can rinse lather and repeat 6 hours from now. He also snuck in a few minutes to hand me a small velvet box with a purdy heart necklace inside. Takes a lot to surprise ole Ang, considering we don’t usually exchange gifts. He got me. I love it.

I’ll have to deliver his gift some other night when he’s not too tired to …. receive it.

On one of the busiest card giving days of the year, the biggest name in cards should not be offline performing maintenance.

Just a tip.

*Don’t watch OpenWater.
*Don’t wear a patch to bed.
*Don’t watch OpenWater and wear a patch to bed or your mind will recreate that dumbass movie into shit nightmares are made of. Really really bad nightmares. The kind that only allow for two hours of sleep.

Should be lots of love in this house today.

It’s been a rough week with MD not getting home every night until well after 9pm. Baths, dinner, cleanup, homework, bedtime routines – all mine. I realize he’s working his ass off, and I hate complaining about my pains of inconvenience when he resembles something that’s been tied to the back of a semi and bounced down the fucking road every night when he drags himself into the house, but I’m still suffering in my own pathetic way. Getting a blast from the past about what it was like to do this shit alone every day – and I am so very thankful it’s not usually like this anymore.

All that to validate the trip I took into town today to grab a few patches from mom. Poke fun. It’s ok. I know I’m a loser. I want a cigarette. Very much so. I’ll settle for this here patch. And oh my hell, I had forgotten how lovely they are. Zip Zoom Zip. Flying around here like the dragon was awake.

I’m going to kick your ass. Yes, you.

Weren’t you the one that said great things about that dynamite dipshit movie? No? Step aside, you might get hurt. Yes? I’m about to rip your fucking ears off and throw them inside my house. I want you to hear what you’ve done to my happy home. I want you to suffer like I have suffered this week….

MM:MB3, could you please….?
MB3: Maybe I will, GOSH!

MM: MB2! Dinner – you deaf boy? Get your butt down here before I sell you to the circus.
MB1: MB2 you fat lard, come get some DINNER! Eat some FOOD! Come eat some ham.
MB2: Sorry. I just got done taming a wild stallion.

MM: Mind watching your sister for a few while I go mail this? Your dad is in the shower.
MB1: Nope, go ahead.
MB3: You don’t have to stay here with us, we’re not babies.
MB2: Yeah, Dad is like 32 years old.

MM: What are you doing MB3?
MB3: Whatever I wanna do. GOSH!

MB1: Dad just spent like 3 hours shaving his upper lip.

MB1: What’s for dinner?
MB3: Large talons
MB1: I didn’t understand a word you just said.

MM: How was the park?
MB2: The worst day of my life, what do you think? GOSH!

It doesn’t stop there. I’m not sure it will ever stop. These boys that can’t seem to remember how to scratch their ass these days, have somehow managed to memorize this entire fucking movie.

I hope Pedro offers you his protection. You’re going to need it.

MD is working out of town all weekend. This makes me foul. Very foul.

MB1 is fine. Has a recheck Monday, but the elbow looks 1000 times better.

I don’t have the mental energy to do anything. Don’t bitch at me- I know, I know. The appointment is less than three weeks away. Hop off my ass.

How do you argue with an idiot?

I was cleaning when the phone rang today around noon. It was the nurse, and she wanted me to come pick up MB1 – “right away”.

I knew that was coming. He had hurt his arm the night before, and was still babying it this morning. I had given him a note, and was planning on running him in to have it checked out tomorrow if it was still bugging him. Obviously it was. I told her I’d be right there, and then rushed us out the door.

But when I got there, she wasn’t concerned with his upper arm. She was babbling about him tripping in the hallway earlier, and a bleeding elbow, and barking out an order for the office gal to call the local clinic to see if they could see him immediately. I must have looked confused, because she stopped and asked me if I was aware that he had scraped it. I told her yes, but that was about two weeks ago. Then I explained how he had hit that same arm last night, and that’s what I thought she was calling about.

She looked puzzled, and lifted up his sleeve a little more to see his upper arm, and grew more frazzled. Then I saw what she was flipping out about. His elbow was huge. It was red and bulge-y and looked really bad. And to top it off, there were red lines traveling up his arm, and the whole area was hot to the touch. I asked MB1 what the hell happened, and he said that he had fallen on the elbow twice since the original injury, but that it wasn’t hurting until this latest spill that morning – the one that led him to the nurse.

By this time, the nurse was in touch with the clinic, who informed her that they were going to make him an appointment for Friday. She said a few words that don’t usually get much play in the office, and she slammed the phone down. I told her that his ped would be at lunch until 1:30, and her eyes told me that I should just take him to the ER. So I did. Very fast.

He was given two mongo shots in the ass, two antibiotic ‘treatments’ that sure looked a lot like scrubbing dishes only without the dishes, lots of xrays to make sure nothing was broken, and a hefty dose of antibiotics to take home. And I have a list of shit to watch for the next 3 days, and an appt to take him back in Thursday to be checked.

I was scared shitless today on the way to the hospital. Scared that a scratch might end up taking my baby away from me. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I’m not sure just how serious this actually was, as no one really went into too much detail with MB1 in the room, but the doctor did tell me to be glad that he tripped today. That was a punch in the gut. What if he hadn’t? Then what?

Anyone know where I can find those doohickeys that bubble boy lived in?

My butt feels tighter than usual this morning. Just thought I’d pass that along…

Got home from the appointment, and had to tend to the boys who were home from school.

Then I was greeted by a Freecycle-r. She wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow, but she showed up early and I had to dig out the shit I was giving to her.

Then my friend shows up asking if I can do her taxes. I do them every year and they never take more than 10 minutes – so I said sure. Yeah, then she pulls this tuition/scholarship/grant/loan interest whammy on me, and I spend two hours reading tax law. Figures.

Then it’s 7 and I have no dinner fixed.

Then dinner, cleanup, baths – did I mention that MD was at work this whole time? And then walked in right as my ass was about to hit the chair and wanted to know how my day went?

Anyfuckinway…..

Meeting today was to START the school’s evaluation. I was about to start punching my way to prison, when they informed me that this area shares a special services person, and it takes awhile to get these appointments set up.

Whatever.

I decided to shut my mouth and give them the benefit of the doubt since the ho-bag counselor that I have been dealing with this whole time wasn’t there to make anymore fake promises. Thought I’d give these women a chance to tout bullchit before I started making trouble.

They began listing everything they were going assess for. They were working off of the evaluation I had done privately to keep from duplicating tests. And when the sample done by Children’s Mercy wasn’t big enough for speech and observation, they arranged for additional testing. Everything else, they are going to use the results from the experts.

The speech gal is backed up as well, but she hopes to be done within 30 days regardless. Then they said we’ll sit down again and go over all the findings and decide a course of action together based on what his needs are. They both seemed fairly familiar with OCD/PDD-NOS/Asperger’s, and seemed to know the kinds of things to watch out for during the upcoming observations.

All in all, I’m feeling a lot better than I did this morning. They still should have done this MONTHS ago, but bitching about shoulda coulda woulda never helped anyone. Homeschool is a big step, and while it’s something that is really …. calling?? to me more and more (surprisingly so), I would like more time to think it through – so I’m glad I wasn’t pushed into a corner today.

After the meeting, his teacher asked if she could explain to me what had happened the other day, so we stuck around while the other two ladies left. She was pretty upset, and explained that she was at a teacher’s meeting while an aide was watching the class that day. The aide was to have them draw the same type of picture they draw every week, but MB4 got it in his head that he wanted to draw a friend in it as well. The aide knows about his situation, and tried to redirect him, but it set off a few other kids as well. They wanted to draw whateverthehell they wanted too. Guess it was a real headache for the aide, and his teacher moved them all to yellow when she returned – but only because they are very familiar with this exercise. And she couldn’t move 8 pegs without moving MB4’s, but she said she pulled him aside and let him know that she wasn’t angry with him at all – just trying to teach him everyone to follow the rules. Said he was fine at that time. And since this happened at the end of the day, she didn’t have much time to explain why in the behavior planners. She figured she’d see me today and explain more.

I told her to remember that my information comes from a 5yo mildly autistic child who answers chocolate milk when asked about his day – except for the days he gets in trouble. And that although I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt initially, her two bit note about following directions the first time really chapped my ass.

But, it’s all good. For now. I’m still not thrilled to be at the mercy of this school district, but they’ll be given this final chance to pull their head outta their ass before I make my decision.

The meeting with the school is today. I’m a nervous wreck. I’ve spent the past two hours working on my script and praying that the conversation stays where I need it to stay.

Simply put – I’m going to lie. If this meeting turns out to be a bunch of bullshit to shut me up, and they still refer to the evaluation results as a good reference to have for his records thanks, I’m going to lie. I’m going to tell them that I arranged therapy WITH those experts, and they were deeply concerned to find out that he hasn’t even had a school level evaluation yet, nor does he have an IEP.

I’ve shown them that I have no idea how any of this works, and they’ve probably figured out that I have major duhduhduh issues when talking to people. As a result, I feel that they have flat out lied and fed me bullshit the past 10 months now, so I figure it’s my turn to lie and shovel shit.

Either that or I’m going to flip the fuck out and start stabbing people in the throat with pushpins.

What in the fuck is wrong with you people and your children? Why aren’t you teaching them manners? Why haven’t you beat those asses for backtalk? Why must you send your monsters to my house when you can’t handle the product of your fucked up parenting job? And why my house? Don’t your kids know I’m crazy?

MB1 rounded up the neighborhood kids to play football in the yard. A kid I’ve never even met comes strolling in the house while everyone else was outside. Didn’t knock. Didn’t even acknowledge me other than to ask where the bathroom was. He did his business, then came out and asked what was for lunch. I was not in the mood for my own children’s bullshit, forget taking on somebody else’s heathen. I simply raised an eyebrow and told him nothing.

I was fixing cookies so I’d have something to ruin my dieting efforts with tonight, and he reached over and grabbed the last piece of dough on the counter and plopped it in his nasty ass mouth. You know, the piece I was saving for myself? That piece? Yeah, that one. I hope his wang and piss flavored sausage fingers seasoned that dough with enough grody goodies to crunch his guts up for days. Nasty little prick.

I was just speechless. I shot a look of hatred from the depths of my soul and told him to g-o o-u-t-s-i-d-e. He nodded – yes, that’s nodded, as in shot me a nod – and went out to join the others. I cleaned up while staring out the window at him, hoping someone would ping the little troll in the head. I waited for it. I willed it to happen.

But it didn’t, and I grew bored. I went in to straighten up the living room, and Troll saunters back on inside and heads straight for the kitchen. As he passes me, he asks if the cookies are done yet. I didn’t even bother closing my jaw. I just left it open so my mind could get another look at what the fuck was going on, as it wasn’t believing the report from my eyes.

He stopped in front of the plate of cookies, turned my direction, and asked again by bugging his eyes out at me. Mouth still open, I simply said “Out”. He laughed for a second as he tried to find the joke on my face. Then I pointed to the door and tried to melt him with my eyes as he left.

I need a drink. And a smoke.

I’m having a hard time today and MD is at work. I need him home so I can go take a time out and calm down. I just want to be left the fuck alone for a minute. Just one minute.

I’m just as puzzled as everyone else, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to kick her.

I know that she seemed to ‘get it’ when she sent in the evaluation paperwork. And all this time talking to me, she would smile and reassure me that we would work together to help him.

However, the past few months she has been unloading on me more and more – and maybe she was bitching, not unloading. Maybe she honestly expected me to magically fix him with a good talking to and when I didn’t (couldn’t) ……. ? I don’t know.

Notes are becoming more commonplace lately – issues w/ glue (but she can’t ‘authorize’ a glue stick because everyone would want one), cutting and running scraps to the recycle bin, still ‘copying’ off of others to see what he’s supposed to be doing (but she’s concerned the other kids will cheat because of it – sigh) , still has to tell him daily to eat his food before he gets his chocolate milk or he won’t eat, he still asks for me everysingleday and tears up when she tells him no, still repeating directions to him 3 and 4 times and he’s still not following them….. and that particular note has earned some serious frequent flier points over the school year.

I understand that kids need to follow directions – I really do. I’m not – or at least I don’t think I am – one of those moms that makes excuses for her bratty children. I don’t tolerate poor behavior either, but I ‘d never holler at a dog for not using a napkin like I told him to.

Is she simply frustrated from dealing with it on her own all these months? Is it the time of year when her lesson plan states that she needs to start cracking down on rule-breakers to prepare them for first grade? What? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t know what happened.

I am trying very hard to see her side of it, but she has to see mine as well. He’s just a little 5yo boy who is so very very confused most of the time. Just when I get myself calmed down about it, I think about him tearing up at school, and I want to punch someone again.

What a day. Figures it’d be today that I could split skulls for a smoke.

MB4 came home crying this afternoon. Cried for almost 2 hours because he had to change his color peg at school. I asked him why, and he said that he thinks – THINKS!!! that the teacher only wanted him to get one piece of paper to draw with, and he grabbed two pieces because he wanted to draw a picture of both of his friends. He thought he was going to be kicked out of school.

I wanted to puke.

Then I read his daily behavioral chart from his teacher: No stamp today/had a color change to yellow- listen and follow directions the 1st time they’re given.

That’s when I became furious. Is this not the woman I’ve been dealing with all year? The one who KNOWS he needs shit repeated and explained numerous times, and even then he STILL might not get it?

I tried calling to speak to her, but she was gone. So I jotted down a note in return: MB4 has no idea why he received a color change today. He claims his teacher didn’t want him to draw two pretty pictures, but that explanation didn’t seem to make sense to him – which tells me that he is not making sense of the directions he was given in the first place. I understand the need to follow directions, but he spent two hours crying because he thought he was getting kicked out of school, and I’m extremely concerned that consideration isn’t being given for his situation.

I can’t think of how to end it without using the words dirtbag hairy bitch whore skeez, so I guess I’ll leave it like it is and patiently wait for the meeting Monday. The meeting that is causing major anxiety. The meeting that MD can’t attend, as he’ll be out of town all next week. The meeting that I’ll either bawl or chew my way through. Either way sounds like bad business to me.

I can’t have my son feeling like this. I just can’t. He doesn’t have friends at school. He doesn’t get to participate in most of the projects since he’s off in nevernever land. He obviously doesn’t have the support of his teacher like I thought he did. And the school district itself has failed him over and over and over again.

I spent today researching other options. I have always been hesitant about homeschool, as I wouldn’t want to deprive my children of the social aspect of it all, but I read something tonight that made a helluva lot of sense to me…

“Kids with Asperger Syndrome do not typically need or want the same level of social interaction that their neurologically typical peers do.”

That’s exactly right. MB4 loves school – because of the bus, the chocolate milk, and the swings. He still gets teary eyed at school when he gets confused and overwhelmed and asks for me. Not sure how much more I can put up with. Thinking about how he must feel during the day is tearing me up inside.

That meeting had better knock my socks off, or my boy is coming home with me – to stay.

Tomorrow is the 6th month anniversary of our Quit. While I’m proud of that, I’m not proud of the 20lbs I’ve gained since then. Not at all. It’s really bothering me, and yet I find that I am completely worthless when it comes to taking the necessary steps to lose it.

I need instant gratification, and there just isn’t any with weight loss. The scale has been put up for now, but I don’t need it to know that my jeans don’t fit. Or when I catch a glimpse of myself in the freezer door in the frozen food section and my eyes bulge out in horror when I see my full-length view. Or when I notice the extra neck while applying my foundation. The scale was never a newsflash.

I’ve slowed with the exercise as a result. I haven’t seen any results, so fuck it. That’s what my brain tells me. That, and grab a bag of chips to sulk our way out of. My head spins as I listen to my mind rationalize away the box of teddy grahams or the extra 3 dinner rolls. I am still breastfeeding, after all. Yes, but that doesn’t require eating my weight in food.

I’ve decided to use the anniversary of my quit as a starting point for a real attempt to lose 10 pounds and tone the rest. It seems fitting to do it that way. I damn near had myself talked out of it earlier, as no one starts shit like this on a Friday, but I am dammit.

Summer is coming, and I can’t fit into my shorts.

I cancelled our ‘association’ with the therapist from yesterday. Worked up my courage and called the school (again) and finally have an appointment Monday to go over the game plan. Next, I’ll call the ‘experts’ in KC and ask for their help with referrals. SendValiumPlease – I’ve earned it.

MB4 is taking to his glasses pretty well. Had a little trouble eating dinner last night, but the doctor said that would be normal considering how well trained his eyes are to compensate. We’ll see how he did with them at school today.

There are a million things I need to do today, but here I am – sitting in my sweats. I haven’t cleaned one fucking thing today, nor have I done any exercise. Making those phone calls has left my mind a pile of jelly. I just want to sit on the floor and play with blocks and forget about the store and the house and the laundry and a bath…

It’s amazing what a bath and a dose of sunshine will do for ya…

My baby looks cute as hell in his new specs …..

MB4 had his first therapy appt today. Not so sure about this place. Granted, I don’t have a lot of experience, but I don’t think we’ll be headed back there again.

Number one, I made the appt thinking I would be taking him to the psychiatrist there, but it turned out to be a psychologist (?) that works in the office. Fine, as they work together and can still handle the medication recommendation from Children’s Mercy, but I honestly don’t think this guy ‘got it’ today.

MB4 could not/would not sit still, and he was finally asked to draw a picture so we could talk – except there were no drawing materials. Pencil and legal pad – how thrilling. This guy asked MB4 to draw a picture of his family, and they went back and forth several times because my son doesn’t like to be told what to draw – he likes to create designs, not draw people. Anyway, he managed to draw me, MD, himself, and MB5 before asking if he could play with the cars instead.

This man immediately starts in with the “ahhh-haaa!!”, and holds up the picture for me to see. Then begins to ask MB4 if he was leaving out his other siblings because he wanted more alone time with mom and dad, and he says – “yes, my brother MB1 has smelly feet”.

The man smiled and patted his back, and told me that this was very common in children to feel … “overlooked” in a family our size, and that his “re-actions” were a sign he needed more from us.

sigh What the fuck ever.

I managed to get through the rest of the appt without cringing too much as he mewled his hands up to his chest and told me that autistic children are withdrawn and unable to talk, and that my son is a bubbly boy – definitely not autistic. When I said the exact diagnosis was PDD-NOS, and not necessarily autism, he balked and said “fancy words”.

Whatever.

I’m going to call Children’s Mercy tomorrow and ask them to give me a referral to somewhere/someone decent. Or at least someone who has fucking crayons to draw with.

Work Bitch

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