Category Archives: parenting

The REAL Real Housewives

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

I have told you all before that I am a viewer of some of the better (read: trashier and more outrageous) reality shows on television.  Over the years I have watched cooks, bakers, chefs, survivors, racers, singers, dancers, models, designers, personal trainers, apprentices, people and things getting make-overs, home buyers, home sellers, house flippers, motorcycle builders, gun makers, pregnant teenagers, teenage mothers, self-involved twenty- and thirty-somethings, bachelors and bachelorettes, people getting married, people having babies, parents of eight, parents of eighteen and then nineteen, table flippers, screamers, and fighters… just to name a few.

Man,  I watch a lot of television.  But that’s not really the point here.

I remember when MTV first aired “The Real World” in 1992.  I could not get enough of that show.  At 21, I thought that what those kids were doing was what I wanted to be doing… living with strangers in a loft in So-Ho, trying to make it as a model or a dancer or a rapper, having interesting life experiences, and fighting the good fight about politics or racism or sexual orientation.  Well, not really, but something like that.

Then I got married and watched “A Baby Story,” and I decided that I wanted to try a peaceful water birth in my living room, or at least have a professional TV cameraman getting the money shot of my baby coming into this world.  Well, not really, but something like that.

Next I saw “Flipping Out” and wanted to be Jeff’s loyal assistant, who commiserated with him about all of the idiots in the world and how hard it is to find reliable help, all while I was the one who kept his businesses running smoothly and successfully.  And then that Bethenny Frankel inspired me to always approach life from a place of “Yes.”  But mostly she makes me want to drink margaritas.  Again, not really, but (you know the drill), especially since I am the devil’s advocate and I prefer wine.

Then I discovered the “Real Housewives” series.  My favorites are New Jersey and Atlanta, for obvious reasons.  I grew up in Jersey (even though I must clarify that North Jersey is a completely different beast than South Jersey), and recognize so many of the places and Jersey-isms on the show.  Atlanta’s Kim lives just doors down from my parent’s townhouse.  Her daughter went to my daughter’s middle school.  My column gets published in NeNe’s neighborhood magazine.  I entertained the thought of buying something from Kandi’s toy line (Sheepdog can thank 50 Shades for that thought process, although I didn’t buy anything… so get your panties out of a twist, Kids A&B).  These shows made me want to be like these women.  Well…

I am being as sarcastic as the show title when I say that.  I do not want to be anything like most of these women.  I already am a real housewife and I love my life.  Here I do dishes and laundry and Swiffer the floors all day.  I drive my kids to lessons and practices and playdates.  I go to Kroger and Publix and Target and Walgreens.  I make dinners and pack lunches and I pick up pizza and chinese food.  And I do it all in exercise clothes (earlier this year I wore workout clothes every single day for well over a month and I never got around to exercising even once –  oh well, at least I burned some calories getting those sports bras on and off).  How about they make a show about me?  Well, not really, but something like that.

Sister B and her goofball neighborhood friends made this video while I suppose their unsuspecting husbands did the chores and watched the kids.  It’s no “Bumpin in the Burbs” by the Notorious D-A-D, but it may make you giggle.  Especially the pine straw chick.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Poems of Procrastination

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

In homage to those like Keats, Wordsworth and Shelley (and because my kids are all out of my house and off to the first day of school and I’m kind of bored and putting off my workout and other various and sundry chores), I have decided to write a poem.

“An Ode to Summer”
by Stacy Swiger
 
O! glorious season of unencumbered trotters and limbs – 
How my soul thunders at your sweet smells and irradiated hours.
Why, thou art bursting with vivid comestibles and waterlogged reverie!
The waning of your days is forever married with my ebbing enthuse.
What splendor dreamt by deities in sculpting your essence.

Well, that didn’t take nearly long enough, despite the constant thesaurus look-ups.  Maybe I’ll go a little less formal with a haiku.

“A Haiku Poem About Summer”
by Stacy Swiger
 
Bare… feet, legs, iCal
Summer is wet, bright and free.
Fall is too leafy.
*******
 
“And Another”
by Stacy Swiger
 
Haiku.  “Gesundheit”
Must be the freshly mowed grass.
Where’s the ice cream man?
*******

Kid A = 11th grade, Kid B = 8th grade, Kid C = 6th grade, Kid D = 2nd grade, and Kid E = Georgia pre-K. Mom = sad that summer is over.

I am always bummed that summer is essentially over for us when school starts, even though it is still August.  But I can say that I am happy to get back to writing more regularly.  And I know that the kids could certainly use some time apart from each other.

Just the other day, I listened from my office as I heard Kid E driving his siblings absolutely batty.  He went from one to the next, just nudging and annoying them with his, “Play with me” and “Get this for me”  and “Will someone wipe me?”  Finally I heard that he was left alone in the upstairs hallway, as everyone else had retreated to their rooms for some much-needed alone time.  Never to be discouraged, Kid E knocked on someone’s bedroom door.

Knock, knock.

“Who is it?”

(In his own, undisguised voice) “It is NOT me.  He he he he he he he he.”

Whatever.  It got them to open the door.

Happy First Day of School, my southern peeps.  And to those of you that still get to go to the beaches and the pools and sleep in for a few weeks longer, I hope you appreciate how good you’ve got it.  Enjoy your vivid comestibles and waterlogged reverie.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

 
 
 

Safe (Whew!)

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

This is my fair warning to you all… Kid A has gotten her driver’s license.

Against all odds (and by “odds” I mean the fact that she usually drives ten to twenty m.p.h. below the posted speed limit and she hit every. single. one. of the cones during the parallel parking portion of the road test), my first-born now holds a Class D Provisional License from the State of Georgia.  I am frightened.

I have already reconciled the fact that learning how to drive and getting a license is a necessary right of passage for any human being who wants or needs to get anywhere in life.  I know this because I spent a lot of time considering which major cities she could possibly live in that employed practical and accessible mass transit options.  Then she wouldn’t ever have to drive.  Yay!  Problem solved.  And despite Sheepdog setting a really great example of how you can get almost anywhere using two wheels plus public transportation, Kid A was not having it.

I have also reconciled the fact that (even though it may be my deepest, darkest wish) I can not control everything.  My children will grow up.  They will fall down.  They will succeed a little and fail a little.  And some, if not all of them, will get into accidents while driving.  Shiver.  Here’s to hoping for fender benders and nothing worse.

Girl drivers rule! Marcia sure wasn’t the one who hit the cone and broke the egg. Enjoy your omelette, Greg!

The day of Kid A’s driving exam was looming and I was still struggling with the fact that she could be legally behind the wheel very soon.  She was continuing to improve but her driving skills were spotty at best.  She would have really good days and then she would cut off four people in under a mile.  She was super confident from all of her practicing, while I sat helpless in the passenger seat.  By this point I had gotten my gasps and sighs under control because they just made her more nervous.  I know this because she mentioned it once or twice (or 3,077 times).  So now at least my silent clenching muscles were getting a really great workout.

It was decided that it would be best for everyone involved that Sheepdog take her to the Department of Driver Services on the day of her scheduled exam.  It was also decided that she would be solely responsible for gathering the required paperwork for said exam.  She had been practicing for months and was taking the road test in my mom’s car (a nice and safe 4-door sedan) because she couldn’t drive a manual transmission (Sheepdog’s car) and she was very uncomfortable driving the XL SUV that we use to cart around the whole family plus luggage on trips.

So it is the day of the test and Kid A and Sheepdog head out of the house as the rest of us yell, “Luck!”  But after several minutes they are both back inside the house, scrambling and worried.  During a last-minute paperwork review it was determined that the insurance card for my mom’s car had expired two days prior.  The premium was paid in full, yet the DDS would accept nothing less than current proof of insurance, which we did not have.  I proudly refrained from calling Kid A a dumb ass for not realizing this sooner, although I thought it really loudly in my head.  I also thought that it was the universe’s way of telling her that she wasn’t ready to get her license and I breathed a sigh of relief that she would not be driving alone, at least for a little while longer.

But, no!  In a bold move, Kid A said “Stick it!” to my universe theory.  She was stubborn and proud and confident and determined to get her license on this day.  She climbed behind the wheel of all 222.4 inches of our Yukon XL (which she had only driven once more than a year prior, swearing never to wrangle that beast again) and headed out to take her test.

I wasn’t even a little surprised when I got the call from Sheepdog that she passed.  She is a very safe driver and she continues to get better every time she goes out to practice.  And she showed us that she can handle pressure with grace and style by the way she stepped up and drove a completely unfamiliar monster vehicle (c’mon… it’s almost a bus for all intents and purposes).  I mean, she should have earned her commercial driver’s license after passing in that thing.

It has been several weeks since the test.  She even has her own car now.  It is much more reasonably sized and very safe (with something like 72 airbags inside, to make her mother feel better).  She has improved exponentially since she started driving alone, so I feel a little better about letting go of control.

But not totally… she still has to text me when she gets where she is going.  So now I anxiously await the “Safe” message from both Sheepdog (after he rides his bike into work) and Kid A every time I look at my phone.  I see those words and I unclench, at least until the next time.  Baby steps, folks.  I’m a work in progress.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Mother’s Day Tea

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Today was very important for Kid D.  He woke up vibrating with excitement and secrecy.  He put on his best dress shirt and tie.  He has been working hard for weeks preparing for a very special Mother’s Day Tea, which his first grade class held this morning.  It was a Very Big Deal.

Since I was invited and all, I got out of my pajamas dressed up and headed over to the elementary school for the festivities.  Every year the first graders put on this show in order to make their moms get all sappy and sentimental and to watch them cry in public.  I mean, they play “Wind Beneath My Wings” as background music, for cripe’s sake.  There is always plenty of sweetness and love and lemon pound cake and itchy dress clothes and video cameras and it is just totally awesome.

This year did not disappoint.  One smooth operator wore a tuxedo!  The kids all sang “Puff the Magic Dragon,” which is a much sadder song than I ever remembered (P.S. I looked up Honah Lee and it is a fake place.  I’m bummed.)  They also each wrote and read aloud a poem with the theme “I Love You More Than…”  The kids this year included standard things like “video games,” “the chocolate chip pancakes you made me for my birthday,” “our trip to Disney World,” and “our dog, Mutley.”  But my favorite this year was when one little blonde girl said “I Love You More Than… Dad.”  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, even though I don’t think she actually meant to say that.  It was part of another sentence or something but the way it actually came out was truly awesome.  I wanted my kid to say that.

Puff, let me introduce you to my friend, The Giving Tree. Tree, this is Puff.

There were little notes and drawings and pictures talking about moms posted all around the classroom.  There was a whole wall of mom portraits obviously drawn by the kids.  For some reason, we all looked very angry in those renderings with scowls on our faces and nobody could tell which one was supposed to be them, but they were still cool.  Then there were these Runaway Bunny-style short sentences.  You know the book by the Goodnight Moon lady that has a petulant little bunny rabbit who tries to leave his mommy and every time he says he’s going to morph into something to get away (a rock on a mountain, a fish in a stream, a sailboat), his mother always adapts into something that can catch him (a mountain climber, a fisherman, the wind).

This was Kid D’s version:

If you are the baseball bat, I will be the player who hits a home run with you.

Well, hmmmm.  Now most of us are well-versed in baseball metaphors.  With that in mind, his project seems dirty, right?  I will acknowledge that my brain has permanently set up camp in the gutter but this seems pretty wrong.  It actually sounds like something Sheepdog said to me just last week.  I can tell you emphatically that baseball to Kid D is just baseball, but with his father being straight outta West Virginia he can’t be playing fast and loose with words like that.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Just Say No to Cash

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

For those of you who know me very well (and there are only like nine of you on the whole planet… “I’m a loner, Dottie.  A rebel.”), you are well aware that I do not enjoy chatting on the phone.  There are certainly exceptions, but I rarely spend my free time yakking it up.  Yesterday was a unique day for me in that I called or was called by every single person in my family of origin (also known as “907 Chelsea Peeps”).  It wasn’t even anybody’s birthday or a holiday or anything really special.  I can’t tell you the last time that happened.  Not that we need to stop the presses or anything.  I’m just saying.

So in talking to everybody I got a crapload of new information… updates, ideas, stories, gossip.  You know, the good stuff.  Some of it was really good stuff too.  Let me just say that in the game of OMG One-Up, my family will probably win.  We’d come in second place at the very least.  There’s some crazy stuff out there, people.

Anyway, Sister B called me in the middle of the day and mentioned that she was collecting money for some group teacher gifts and she had an idea for a nicer presentation than just handing over cash in an envelope.  I was unaware that cash in an envelope was not nice, but apparently I don’t know anything.  So I told her to write a post and I’d put it on my blog so anybody who reads it can copy her idea.

Or you can just give cash in an envelope.  Seriously, I don’t see how that can be a bad thing.

********************************************************************************

End of the Year Gift Idea by Guest Writer, Sister B

It is that time of the year again…soccer banquets, religious education end of year parties, graduations, last day of school parties, ballet recitals, cub scouts graduation ceremonies…I don’t know about you but my wallet is empty!  I am so thankful for the adults who help my children throughout the year in so many different ways, whether it be their coaches, teachers, school administrators, instructors or leaders.  They work so hard, demonstrate incredible patience, foster a love of learning in so any ways, and I took on the coordination of the donation of funds towards a group gift.

I know from my teacher friends that gift cards are always the best because if they get another candle or apple-themed “#1 Teacher” mug they are going to literally scream.  But I just didn’t want to put a big gift card in an envelope and call it a day.  I wanted to take a few minutes and a little creativity to show those who have earned a year end gift that we appreciate all that they have done each and every day of this past year.  I did not want to spend a lot of money because the majority of the funds should go towards the gift card for the individual who deserves the kudos!

I searched the internet and found this adorable phrase – “Thanks for helping us ‘grow’ this year!”

I was inspired to create a gift card holder with a flower theme.  I found small baskets 2 for $1 at the local dollar store.  Target had faux felt flowers in the $1 section and they were bright and colorful and cheery.  I found gardening signs also in the $1 section at Target and made a sign on my computer with the clever phrase.  I purchased a styrofoam cube from the dollar store, cut it in half and placed it in the bottom of the basket.   Then, covered the styrofoam with shredded paper, inserted the faux flowers, stuck in the sign and voila!  Instant end of the year gift card holder!  Can’t wait to give these to my kids’ specialists, coaches and teachers and they can enjoy them for many years to come.

 

There are several other variations of this gift idea.  You could purchase fresh flowers and just make the sign.  You could buy a plant from Home Depot or Lowe’s.  You could have your kids make homemade tissue paper flowers.  The possibilities are endless.  But with a little creativity, you can really show the teachers in your life your thanks for all of their time this past year.  And your gift will stand out from the rest of the pile of gift cards in plain envelopes, guaranteed!

This… Is… Walgreens

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

You know how especially this time of year everybody has to have something weird and specific for school or sports or work or a hobby or whatever and they need it right now?  Just within the past week or two I have had to provide six individual flowers, a funny hat, Swedish fish, a baby picture, a bag of pretzels, a foam roller, a metal dog bowl, a plain white t-shirt, a South African recipe, a bag of Pepperidge Farm Milano Double Fudge cookies, a food that starts with the letter “U,” an unopened sleeve of plastic cups, 2 inflatable pool swim rings, seven metal stakes, and a cut-up lemon.  And there’s never much notice because everybody is trying to cram everything into the last few weeks before school lets out and summer begins.

Plus, we are still attending all of the regular season practices and classes and now their accompanying End of the Year/ Season parties and celebrations as well.  So our family calendar and all of the driving and carpooling and shuttling has been kicked up a notch.  And not even my regular stockpile of supplies can be counted upon for all of these strange and urgent requests.  (My father-in-law thinks that between my garage, basement and pantry I have my own Kroger going on and he’s not too far off the mark).  Still, I find myself running to the store almost every afternoon lately to fill the demands that I do not have already on hand, and that means “running in” with some, if not all, of my kids.  Ugh, the herding turtles suckfest.  My patience is at an all-time low.

I have tried bargaining with what I have available, but my kids never agree to bring in freezer-burned edamame when they are supposed to be showing up with Sour Patch Kids.  Picky, picky, picky.

Since I am rarely up for carting these kids around with me to the stores last minute, I like to ask Sheepdog to stop instead.  I can justify this pass off of parental responsibility because (a) he is either alone or only has the older kids with him and they can get in and out of the car by themselves and they can usually be trusted in a parking lot, (b) it is way past dinnertime and when he goes out and the odds are reduced that he’ll get caught in the middle of a bitch-slap fight for the last rotisserie chicken from the heated display, and (c) he will use any excuse to go out and pick up a few extra Hershey bars or sleeves of Smarties for his late night snack… “they just fell into the cart!”

Sheepdog is a great team player and he always goes without complaint.  But even patient Sheepdog gets frustrated with the traffic and the scavenger hunt and by the time he has gone to a second or even third store to get some rare item, he has little or no patience left with the people at the register.  This is how it went when he was once checking out with a disposable camera, a very specific (and not easy to locate) type of long-hair conditioner, and some candy.  He was already tired and overworked and ready to be home eating his treats.  Calgon, take me away.

“Will that be all, sir?” asked the clerk.

“Yes.  Oh, and I have a CVS card,” replied Sheepdog.

“What?”

“I have a CVS card,” he said again with his irritation showing itself in tone and volume.

“Huh?”

“I… Have… A… CVS… Card.”  I believe his patience evaporated completely with the last syllable.

“Sir, this… is… Walgreens.”

Oops.

Wish Sheepdog some more patience for tomorrow…

What Did One Math Book Say To The Other Math Book?

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

“Dude, I’ve got a lot of problems.”

I love that joke.  Probably because I am a math book.  And one of my biggest problems keeps popping up lately… I am very ornery and I tend to bring out the ornery in those around me.  And that can get us into some hot water at times.

For example, I see Kid C and D’s elementary school bus driver every weekday morning.  He is a really nice, reliable man in his late forties or early fifties.   He drives safely and he keeps the kids in line and they all say he is a great bus driver.  Everybody likes him.  I even know his wife (she was the previous elementary school bus driver for Kids A and B when we first moved here).  We always exchange pleasantries and what’s-going-on’s, but we are usually limited to yelling just a few words back and forth to each other over the very loud diesel engine.

Prior to Spring Break he told me that he was going to Las Vegas for vacation.  For the last few days before school was out I would yell, “Vegas, Baby!” while raising my arms and laughing uncontrollably whenever he opened the bus doors.  The other kids on the bus looked at my kids and were like, “Is your mom drunk again?”  Whatever.  It made me giggle.  And, no, there is nothing else in my coffee.

So when we returned from Spring Break and all of the groggy kids were climbing onto the school bus on Monday morning I asked the bus driver how his trip went.  He smiled a wistful smile and said it was really fun, as if he had either lost a lot of money at the craps tables or he really wished he was still on vacation.  Or both.  I didn’t want him to be sad, so my ornery busted out with some bright-side support and I yelled, “At least you still have your pants on!”

He laughed out loud and then succumbed to my bad influence.  The engine was very loud but I think I heard him yell back, “Yeah, but I’m not wearing any underpants!”  …in front of a school bus full of little kids.  The poor man realized what he said as soon as it came out of his mouth and was mortified.  Imagine the face that a minister would make if he dropped the F-bomb in the middle of a church picnic.  The bus driver made that exact face.  Thank goodness all of the kids already think I am crazy and don’t pay attention to anything I say, so nobody was really listening to us anyway.  I don’t want anybody getting in trouble, so I will say again that the engine was really loud and I probably did not hear him correctly.  But if he did say it, then chalk up one more for my very bad influence.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Thank goodness.

Speaking of Vegas, Sheepdog gave a speech on food traceability and its impact on recalls in litigation at a food-borne illness conference in Las Vegas last week (I know, I know… how sexy is that?).  Now, I have shared a lot about Sheepdog over the past year, so I feel like you all should know him pretty well.  Even so, I can not stress enough how much of a square peg Sheepdog is in the holes of Sin City.  He does not drink, he is the married father of five children, and if he is not working like a madman to pay for all of those children to be housed, clothed, fed and educated, he is either running or riding his bicycle somewhere.  Not exactly the things that come to mind when you think of Vegas, right?

Sheepdog is more than a fish out of water on the Vegas Strip.  The place genuinely scares the crap out of him.  He went there only one time years ago for our brother-in-law’s bachelor party weekend.  He went out there with something like $200 “fun money” in his pocket (the most money he ever had in his possession at one time up until that point, and it was a big deal financially for us to send him there with that much) and then called me from a strip club or somewhere because he had already used up all of the money.  After only being there for an hour.  I won’t even say how much cash he ended up dropping that weekend, but it was not an itty-bitty number.  Apparently there was just so much of everything available twenty-four hours a day.  And apparently Sheepdog’s intensity does not translate into anything good in a place like that.

So Sheepdog and I were both joking how ever since that trip Vegas scares the bejesus out of him.  And it turns out that at least somebody was paying attention when we were talking.

On the drive home from preschool on Wednesday, we were talking about Sheepdog and I reminded Kid E that his Daddy was in Las Vegas.  From the backseat I hear him say to nobody in particular, “Daddy is a-scared of Vegas.”  For whatever reason, I found this to be particularly funny.  And I found it to be even more hysterical when Kid E asked what, specifically, it was that Sheepdog was a-scared of.  Cue the ornery me.

Now, I’m not proud of this (although I do keep laughing about it), but I told Kid E that Daddy was scared of “too much boobies and drinking and spending money.”  And being a four-year-old boy, he thought that me saying those things was absolutely fantastic, and he proceeded to repeat them over and over and over again.  And I, of course, kept encouraging him because he follows up saying “boobies” with that priceless little kid giggle that just melts my heart.  At least I did remind him that he wasn’t allowed to mention any of this when he was at his Lutheran Church-based preschool.  Fingers crossed that I don’t get a note from his teacher anytime soon.

“Dude, I’ve got a lot of problems.”  Trust me, I know.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Opening the Floodgates

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

The summer before Kid E turned two years old I started to worry.  He did not talk very much at all.  And with all of the very vocal people already in this house he seemed to get lost in the shuffle.  Often his siblings would just answer for him or bring him toys until they brought what he wanted.  When I looked into it some more I realized that he was way behind in his speech development, so as each day passed I began to fret more and more that there was something wrong with him.  Speech was definitely not his go-to form of communication.  He would much rather point and grunt at the things he wanted.  He also did this sing-songy gibberish thing with lots of inflection.  It was kind of cool and sounded pretty, but I still knew that something about my baby was way off.

Fortunately, my sisters told me that Georgia has a program called “Babies Can’t Wait,” which facilitates testing and early intervention for children under age three who are exhibiting developmental delays.  I contacted the Fulton County coordinator for Babies Can’t Wait and was able to get Kid E scheduled for testing shortly after his second birthday.  The test results confirmed that his expressive communication skills (how he interacted with others) were horribly low (4th percentile), but his auditory comprehension skills (what he understood) were above average.  The therapist classified him with a severe expressive language disorder, but she also said in her report that he showed favorable chances for improved communicative functioning through speech therapy two times a week.  His file was submitted for processing.  So we waited.

By mid-October I hadn’t heard back from anyone, so I called again.  I was told we were on a list.  Apparently the babies CAN and WILL wait.  Fortunately for Kid E, we had the means to take him to private speech therapy, so I set about the task of applying for a spot in several local, highly recommended therapy programs.  You would think I was applying for a conceal and carry permit with the amount of paperwork that was involved in signing a kid up for speech therapy.  And they asked me all kinds of crazy questions too.

Have any shocks or unusual stress during pregnancy?  Um, yes.  I was shocked that I was pregnant.  AGAIN.
What was the child’s birth weight?  Did I mention he was my 5th baby?  I do not remember what he weighed.  I would check his baby book, but I never got around to doing one.  I’ll guess about 7-ish pounds.
Apgar scores?  1 minute _____  5 minutes _____  You’re kidding, right?  I don’t even remember how much the kid weighed.
Age when child: Began babbling _____ First word spoken (what was it?) _____ Using two-word phrases (age they started) _____ Feeds self with fingers _____ Feeds self with spoon _____ Feeds self with fork _____ Drinks from open cup _____ Rolled over _____ Sat without assistance _____ Crawled _____ Walked _____ Jumped with two feet _____ Toilet trained _____ Ride a tricycle/ bicycle _____  OK, So now we have successfully established that I am a horrible mother who did not keep track of most or any of these milestones and my son will probably grow up hating me and needing more therapy because of it.  Thanks.
What typically calms/ soothes your child?  Thumb sucking.  And even though you didn’t ask, what soothes me after a long day of not being able to communicate effectively with this child is a big bottle of wine.  Please allow him to come to your facility for speech therapy.  Pretty please.  I am begging.

So we were accepted and soon we started going in for therapy twice a week.  I would sit in the waiting room and the therapist would take Kid E back to some magical place where they performed voodoo rituals or some other magical wizardry of the speech therapy variety, because Kid E began to talk almost immediately.  And talk and talk and talk.  It was like the floodgates had been opened.  His therapist was so good at what she did and he responded so well to her treatments that they kicked us out after the New Year.  Fast forward to present day and the kid does not ever shut up.  And I am incredibly grateful, forevermore.

Floodgates at the Lake Sinclair Dam in Milledgeville, Georgia

I definitely pay more attention to his developmental milestones now.  I even paid attention when I had a parent/ teacher conference for his preschool at the mid-year mark.  When it was over I reported to Sheepdog what we discussed.  I read to him from the evaluation.

Kid E “is sweet and agreeable and able to grasp new concepts, especially mathematical ones.  He shows less confidence outside on the playground, but he also shows a determination to master new skills, like climbing.  He is positive and willing to try new things.  At this time he seems more comfortable speaking to adults than his peers.”

I told Sheepdog that I had laughed out loud during the conference about that last comment because I thought it was a good thing.  What?  Most little kids are annoying when you talk to them.  I also mentioned that the teacher said in passing that Kid E still has trouble saying words that start with an “s,” followed by a consonant.  It is apparently fairly common for four-year-olds, but given his history of previous speech issues, I have decided to keep a close eye (ear) on him in this regard.

I have started playing a little game in the car while we drive to and from school.  It is a guessing game.  One person thinks of a word and gives some clues about it and the other person has to guess that word.  Kid E loves playing games in the car so he was all for it.  But I fear that he has already figured out that this game is a form of speech therapy, as I always use “s”-followed-by-a-consonant words when it is my turn.

Me:  “I have a word.  It is one of your favorite dinners.  It has long, stringy noodles and it is covered in tomato sauce and sometimes you eat it with meatballs.”

Kid E:  He sighs at me.  “Pasghetti.”

Me:  “That’s right, but you said it backwards.  Repeat after me.  First say ‘spaghetti,’  then say, ‘sssss.’  ‘Paghetti.’  ‘Sssss.’  ‘Paghetti.’  ‘Spaghetti!’  That’s right!  Excellent!”

Me:  “OK, I am thinking of another word.  It means ‘to knock over or to topple, especially something liquid or slippery… like a drink or the beans.'”

Kid E:  Nothing.  He has already caught on to my speech therapy trick, and he wants nothing to do with it.

Me:  “Let’s forget about the beans.  What is it called when you tip over your drink at dinnertime and it goes all over the table?  That is a big…”

Kid E:  Deliberately, he looks at me in the rear-view mirror and answers with all of the clarity and articulation he can muster, “Flood.”

Game over.  That kid is wicked smart.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

What’s Up? Nothing Much… Got Leukemia.

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Last summer Kid A began dating a boy she had become friends with at school.  She told me all of these nice things about him first (too good to be true?) and then she broke the news to me that he was going to be a senior and was almost 18-years old (she was 15 and starting her sophomore year at the time).  Immediately I had a flashback to my high school days and being asked out by older boys while wearing my catholic school girl uniform (it was mandatory; I wasn’t just being all slutty) and the warning sirens went off in my head.  But knowing very well what happens when you tell a teenage girl that she can not do something, I decided to take a different tack.  I told Kid A that it was fine that they dated, as long as she brought him to our house so we could get to know him.  So she did.  A lot.

It turns out that Kid A was right about the boyfriend being a great kid.  He is smart, witty, a little bit sarcastic, a lot cynical, well-read, comfortable around adults, and he has street smarts too (he lived in Washington, D.C. with his dad for a while).  He was on the cross country team at school and he held a part-time job waiting tables at a restaurant.  Plus, he listens to good rock music and not that odd, hipster stuff by Lights or Meg & Dia.  He is just the right amount of scared of Sheepdog and he is always respectful of our family and our rules.  He plays with Kids B – E and he rarely seems to get sick of them (I don’t get it because I get sick of them all the time).  Most importantly, he is very respectful and sweet to our daughter.

So time has passed and they go out on dates and hang out here and talk and text and have continued to build their relationship.  They have had mostly ups, but they’ve experienced some downs too.  It is pretty amazing to watch both of them handling a high school relationship with such maturity.

Then last Thursday, the boyfriend (although technically he is now her manfriend, as he turned 18 last November) was admitted into the hospital for suspected epiglottitis (an inflammation of the epiglottis, which is the flap that covers the windpipe during swallowing).  While there, his doctors ran a bunch of tests.  By Friday he was in the ICU, where he was diagnosed with leukemia.  He was then transferred to the Bone Marrow Transplant Unit.  He shaved his head on Monday and started chemotherapy Tuesday afternoon.  It has been a whirlwind.  I really can’t believe it has only been a week since his diagnosis.

I am in shock.  Sad.  Scared.  Heartbroken.  Worried.  Angry.  Frustrated because I have no control.  Studying to learn more about the medicine.  Yearning to make it all better.

Stupid cancer.

Then I look at him.  I am in awe of his strength, even in his vulnerable moments.  My heavy heart gets a little bit lighter every time I hear him make a joke or laugh about his disease, because it takes a very strong person to laugh in the face of adversity.  Everyone knows it’s not really funny, but what else is supposed to take down the elephant in the room that makes its presence known every few seconds with a click-click as the poison gets pumped directly into his heart.  Kids should never have to contemplate their own mortality.  Sarcastic optimism really is the best medicine in my book.  That’s how you face down a monster.

News of Manfriend’s leukemia is now starting to reach people in the community.  He’s getting a ton of friend requests from people on Facebook.  He gets texts and phone calls and cards and visitors and cancer presents (DVDs, video games, hats, warm socks… all excellent gifts) every day.  People want to reach out and show their support and let him and his family know that they care and they want to help.

Some people know all too well what this disease can do to people’s lives.  But others have been lucky enough to never have been touched by the clammy hand of cancer themselves.  It is most interesting to see how people act around someone who is sick.  Some say or write just the right things.  Some are extra nice.  Some do the nervous talking thing.  Some are cautious.  Some are the same as they ever were.  Manfriend seems to be responding to everyone with a natural extension of his already sardonic teenage personality and I think it is going to serve him very well through the inevitable ups and downs of his recovery.

A friend came by the unit to see him the other day.  When he knocked and entered the room he saw his sick friend wearing a gown, lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and monitors and machines.  Seeming to gloss over the unmistakable, the friend simply asked, “What’s up?”

Ever the smart-aleck, Manfriend responded, “Nothing much… got leukemia.”

Yeah, I think he’s doing just fine.

Wish me luck for tomorrow (and please keep the manfriend and his family in your prayers)…

You’re Sixteen and We Know It

Posted on by Stacy Swiger
When you walk on by, boys be looking like, “Damn, she fly!”
You sing to the beat, walking down the street in your new DCs (yeah)
This is how you roll, pink leg warmers outta control
It’s Hermione with a big ass ‘fro
And like Clarissa, you explain it all (yo)
 

It's actually Kid B who wears the DCs, but they fit in the song so I went with it

A teenager who knows everything... go figure!

 
Girl, look at that body
Girl, look at that body
Girl, look at that body.
She d-d-dances ballet
 
When you walk in the spot, (yeah) this is what I see (okay)
Everybody stops and they staring at thee
You got the keys to Daddy’s car and you ain’t afraid to drive it, drive it, drive it (slow)
You’re sixteen and we know it
 
Yo, when you’re at the mall, Forever 21 gets all your dough
When you’re at the beach, you’re doing sisones, try to get The Pose (watch!)

Kid A's Mexican sisone

This is how you roll, come on B it’s time to go
You headed on a dinner date, hope you get good service
Daddy’s cleaning his guns, but boy don’t be nervous (whaat?!)
 
Text, text, text, text, text yeah
Text, text, text, text, text yeah
Text, text, text, text, text yeah
 
Girl, look at that body
Girl, look at that body
Girl, look at that body.
She d-d-dances ballet
 
YOU’RE SIXTEEN AND WE KNOW IT!
 

*****************************************************

Kid A had a milestone birthday last week.  She was given the option some months ago of having either a Sweet Sixteen party or a car.  Being a very smart kid, she opted for the car.

But my mom was having none of that nonsense.  Sheepdog and I can give her a car, but she was giving her a party.  Armed with her party planning experience and a purple and silver theme, she set off like a force of nature.  I heard her exclaim on more than one occasion, “I have a vision!  Get out of my way!”

So we did, and Kid A got to celebrate turning sixteen with her friends, her family, a DJ and an awesome spread.

And apparently I have been influenced way more by Weird Al Yankovic than I care to admit.  Shout out to LMFAO and their hysterical song, “Sexy and I Know It” for the basis of my song parody.

LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It”

Wish me luck for tomorrow…