Wordless Wednesday

A Cluttered Nightstand

Thanks to Monica Brand who posted about this on Twitter, I’m taking the plunge and sharing my cluttered, disruptive nightstand for this discussion hosted by 5 Minutes for Books.

As anyone can see, I have far too many books on my nightstand.  It almost looks like my children have stacked them up this way.  (But I did it.  And yes, I’m sure it breaks all the decorating rules–you should see my house!)

Still the books themselves serve as a peek into my life right now.  And this doesn’t include the stack of homeschooling books on the other side of this desk!

I’m 7 months into the GF/CF diet for my 6-year-old thanks to Healing the Childhood Epidemics: Autism, ADHD, Asthma and Allergies by Kenneth Bock.  I highly recommend this book for anyone who wants to truly understand the research behind why this diet works, not only for children on the spectrum, but also for children with allergies, asthma and a few other issues.

I have been reading Different Minds: Gifted Children with AD/HD, Asperger Syndrome and Other Learning Deficits and A Parents Guide to Gifted Children for at least two years now.  They have both helped me tremendously in my attempt at understanding the complex brain of my twice-exceptional child.  I read them and re-read them all the time since they tend to be a tad involved.  I, unfortunately, do not have a particularly complex mind.

Speaking of minds, Making Children Mind Without Losing Yours, Transforming the Difficult Child and Raising Your Spirited Child are only a snapshot of the parenting books I have read over the years.  If you don’t think I have “spirited” children, you haven’t seen this:

(Wait til you see the Wordless Wednesday I have planned for tomorrow!)

Gilead has been a simple joy to read over the past few weeks.  I become so inspired reading Marilynne Robinson.  Her writing is refined poetry.  Reading her makes me want to edit and edit and edit.   (Now here’s a woman who could do a lot for Twitter!)  Plus her vocabulary is simply wonderful!  If I want to escape and relax, I reach for this gem!

Lead by the Perfume Stalker and her husband, my small group from church is reading Epic by John Eldredge.  Eldredge writes about life as a story we are thrust into the middle of with little to no explanation until we look to God.  This idea is precisely what led me to begin blogging in the first place.  Blog posts are fragments of my life story, or your life story.  I believe that by writing these fragments I will begin to find patterns in my own life which would direct me toward my part in the larger story God is writing.

And at the top of my teetering pile, always a reminder to breathe.

Yes, Breathe: Creating Space for God in a Hectic Life by Keri Wyatt Kent, has been my favorite in a rash of “simply your life” books I have read over the last year. I’m in no way remotely organized, but at least I am not taking two children to two different schools, homeschooling one and trying to run an online book business at the same time.

Baby steps.

Real Life Marriage

I adore Absolutely Bananas‘ writing prompts–particularly when I’ve been up and down all night with a son who had a less-than-favorable reaction to some new medicine.  (He’s fine now!)  So 4 cups of coffee later, I’m going to make a go at this idea!

I’ve learned a few things during my 14 years of marriage:

Most of the time we can spend time together in mutual peace and enjoyment!

Sometimes it’s nice to be alone with our thoughts:

Other times we can be together and still pursue our own separate interests:

Then there are times when your love is just too powerful for me!

And times when it is just right!

Happy 14 years!

Feral Celts

First I eliminated the PS2 because I grew so weary of my children talking about Count Duku and General Grievous like they were relatives.

I kept the Wii because I felt it was therapeutic in some sense.   After about a day of homeschooling, I nixxed that, too.

For now.

Until I am worn down, yet again.  Which will happen.

(Those of you familiar with my unorthodox discipline techniques can see a little cash coming my way.)

TV got the punt except for a few random Olympics which I felt encouraged an awareness of Geography.

With all things electronic rapidly vanishing, the Leapster, which had languished underneath McD sacks in the back of the van for months, suddenly took a front seat.  Now we are battling over Spiderman math games.  (At least we are reinforcing multiplication tables.)

This lead to a resurgence of interest in Webkins.  I was slightly nervous when they made mention of those creatures because I feared our furry offspring had all passed on from neglect during the past three months.

I was wrong.  They are sturdy critters.

Still, today I took those Webkins away.  Again.

And now I have this:

(See my laptop on my kitchen bar in the background?  Yes, that’s where I blog!)

We studied the Celts today as part of our history curriculum, The Story of the World, Volume 2.  Immediately Edward grabbed a blue magic marker and begged to tint his face blue.  “Go for it!” I encouraged.

Two minutes later everyone was blue and begging to smear animal fat in their hair.

(One child suggested we render fat from a squirrel we could hunt in the back yard…he was quickly hushed.)

They settled for hair gel.

As I write, my children have tugged a fallen tree limb from the “woods” and are chopping away on its rotted trunk with plastic swords and make-shift “Chinese Stars” they have fashioned out of rock pieces.

Here is the place where they hone their stars:

They are being children.

They are filthy with blue faces, covered in insect bites, half-clothed, clutching half-eaten apples in one hand and Star Wars swords in the other.

Thank you God.

Enormous

Since we were kicked out, deemed unfit for, booted from, asked to leave, encouraged to find other alternative to our horseback riding class, I’ve been smashingly desperate for another activity for Edward.  I had planned a lovely, poetic post about a boy and his horse but I’m a tad bitter disenchanted with all things equine at his point.  Even so, I’ll share a few pictures:

Perhaps it’s for the best.

Anyhoo, yesterday I discovered a local “My Gym” class that sounded promising for our sweet lad.  (One child has some coordination issues and another is partially blind so the coaches are used to working on each child’s level.)  I signed him up on the spot.  (Half the price of the horseback offering, and so, so close to our house.)  Today was our first day.  He was pumped.  Did his version of a cartwheel all over the house, bounced tirelessly on his mini trampoline, hung from his chin-up bar throughout the day, etc.

On the way to the “gym” he asked his typical set of questions about new billboards he was seeing:  “Why would a man want to lose weight?  Don’t all men want to be big?  How does “beatrix” make you lose weight?”  “That’s bariatrics, buddy,” I explained.  “I think it’s the science of weight loss or something like that.”

I thought nothing of it.  A typical conversation.

Whoaa Nelly.

The class went OK.  I won’t bore you with the dull details.  Like the fact that both the coaches are named Zack, so Edward tried to crack a joke about how the coaches were “Zack squared” and nobody got it but me.

What happened directly after the class, however, has got me fretting.

Once the class ends, children are encouraged to get their “socks and shoes and stamperoos.”  Basically they are saying, get out and let the next class in.  So Edward is hustling about trying to find his crocs.  He’s sitting on the floor attempting to wrest his foot into the croc when he pauses and looks up.

I saw the whole thing from across the room where I was attempting to drag Sue out of the “sibling room” where they were debuting a “Care Bears” video.

Instinctively, I knew a less than positive event was unfolding.

In slow motion, I watched as that curly head looked upward toward a rather stout grandmother-type shuttling her granddaughter toward the shoe bin.  That sweet mouth folded into an “o” and before I could get to him, his penetrating voice rang out over the shoeless masses:

“Wow, you are ENORMOUS!  You should try that XYZ ‘beatrix’ place where they use science to help you lose weight…even though you are not a man!”

I cringed.  Everyone had heard.  I was so far away.  Nobody really knew he was my child.  What could I do?  The grandmother quickly gathered her charge and left.  Everyone else looked down uncomfortably…a few couldn’t help but stifle a smile.

In all fairness to my child, this sweet woman was quite possibly the largest person he had ever seen.

Talk about a “teachable moment.”

Still, friends, what on earth will I do next week when faced with this woman?

I’m not going.

I’m sending “H.”

Fresh perspective.

It’s No Cheap, Showy Trinket

The last time I felt truly good about myself (for all the wrong reasons) was about three weeks ago when I took my children to the dentist.  We arrived clean, pressed, on time and with shoes.  I flossed everyone until their gums bled, and I used my own bleaching toothpaste on their pearlies to make them gleam.

Everyone sat perfectly still for their X-rays, and I did not drug them with dye-free Benadryl.  Nobody cried, flailed, spit, kicked an adult, shot a foul-tasting flouride stream across the room or asked an inappropriate question about a dental hygienist’s undergarment.

As far as anyone could tell, we fit in the box this day.  Was the box of behavior, decorum and cleanliness somehow wide enough for us, or did we cram into it inexplicably? 

We all know the answer.

Yet it was a strange feeling, I tell you, to fit in that box–even if only for a moment.  And a dangerous one, too, because I honestly felt this swell of unhealthy pride.  I actually looked for a moment with disdain at another little boy slathered in post-lunch ketchup beaming Legos at stuffed animals in the waiting room.

His mama didn’t pack two extra shirts in the van; she should know better.

Behold the Fall.

Today our horseback riding teacher called to say we were simply not stable enough on the horse and would need to find some true Hippotherapy.  And then right before football practice, two of us smeared pokeberry juice on our cheeks and foreheads because we were urchin Indians.  Then we swung from a poison ivy vine.

(Apparently this can happen if you read Oliver Twist followed by Last of the Mohicans.)

Then one brother pulled another brother’s tooth a bit prematurely.  There was a lot of blood for a time.

Fast-forward to the part of the day when one child could not bear to look upon a gremlinish face carved into some wooden tree trunk tchotchke at a local Cracker Barrel, and unbeknownst to the parent, walked across the parking lot with his eyes closed, and ran smack dab into the Town & Country with a thud that sounded like an anvil had fallen on the van.

Because his guardian angels are so diligent, he emerged with only a large forehead bruise.  Still, this is “way-outside-the-box” kinda stuff.

I still look back on that day of dental greatness with a wistful sigh.  It was a stellar day.  Yet then I remember that God made my children the way they are for an incredibly specific reason.  And I embrace that, and them, and Him.

And after the excitement of today, just when I am growing weary of my “plight” that is truly a blessing and looking with longing toward my peers in the box, my dear blogging friend Mrs. Bear at Out Numbered Two to One comes to my self-concept rescue with this fine award:

Yes!  Now I finally can use the word “ass” on my blog without offending.  Maybe.

And I get to choose 5 others:

Go ye forth!

1.  The Bon Bon Gazette

2.  The Girl in the Middle

3.  Down-To-Earth Mama

4.  Weenuts

5.  Another Piece of the Puzzle

If I didn’t pick you, it was probably because I didn’t think you would be comfortable with the word “ass” peppering your blog.  You know who you are!

Rules are meant to be broken, but here they are anyway:

1. Choose 5 bloggers that you feel are “Kick Ass Bloggers”.

2. Let ‘em know in your post or via email, twitter or blog comments that they’ve received an “Award!”  Share the love and link back to both the person who awarded you and back to www.mammadawg.com.

3. Hop on back to the Kick Ass Blogger Club HQ to sign Mr. Linky then pass it on!

Fun times!

A Measure of Earnest Love

My three-year-old threw up in the Perfume Stalker’s Suburban today.

If my child was going to throw up in any person’s vehicle (other than my own), this is the person I would most likely choose.  Not because I want her SUV to be tainted with throw-up, and not because she has a particularly dirty vehicle but because she has this unusual ability to appear honored that someone in our family would feel comfortable enough to let loose a predigested preschool snack into the recesses of her children’s Britax.

I love how young children describe the important experience of vomiting:  “I sit there and that stuff runned up and out over her seat and down in there.  See it on my ‘dess’.  And Sam showed me his turtle.  Now you see it on my ‘dess’ right here.  But that’s OK, ’cause Mommy can just clean it up!  I need to go potty.  Right now Mommy!”

She jumps and flails, as post-consumed food sprays all over me, her bookbag, her artwork, some random stuffed dog she’s dragging around, her shoes.  You get the picture.

Yes, she’s awfully verbal to be too sickly.

But it’s been a good day!  If she contracted a virus, it was an incredibly mild version–one that rendered her fully able to consume the rest of the artificial color and dye-free Jello (which did not stain the carpet) and a Pedialyte pop (which stained the carpet, her hands, her face, blah blah etc.)

Yet I am so thankful to report that Mommy can clean it up this time!  For there was a time, in the not so distant past, that the entire Channel clan succumbed to a particularly nasty form of intestinal distress.  I’m talking every bed, every towel, extra blankets–the 1980s era washer was taxed.

And mid-cycle through a particularly gruesome job, it simply failed.  Would not wash.  Would not even drain, people.

And the dear, nauseous, week-kneed H had no option but carry the defunct washer out on a hand truck where he tipped it over in the driveway, releasing a cascade of vomit-covered clothes and fetid water down the driveway into the street, as the neighbors watched, in awe.

The strength, the fortitude of a man determined to provide for his family in a time of great distress.

Yes, being the types of people we are (what are those types?) we took a picture.

And he then rushed to the Best Buy to procure a new washer with a Sanitary cycle.

Now that, my friends, is love.

PS: He left the hobbled washer on the steet in front of our house, and someone picked it up.   Hmmmm.

PSS: Alas, Tubal Cain, your group was the last to lunch with our fair group.  Perchance contagion will not pervade.

GF/CF Friday: Cloudy Jello

Every Friday, I will review a Gluten Free/Casein Free (GF/CF) product from the perspective of my 6-year-old, Edward, who has been on the GF/CF diet for 7 months.

Here he is with a temporary mullet:

Don’t you feel like you can trust his opinion?

While Jello is not typically a gluten or casein-filled product, it is filled with artificial flavors and colors, which are incredibly destructive to my son’s sensitive system.  I have, however, found a Jello-like product that my whole family will tolerate when it’s been several months since they’ve had “real Jello” and they have forgotten about the crisp, clear color and flavor of the true “Jello” brand.  Behold:

Jello is such an consummate part of childhood and I felt a considerable amount of sorrow that Edward was missing out on this.  Plus it seemed like such a good texture from a sensory perspective.

I first ordered this from the Squirrel’s Nest a web site devoted to gluten/casein/artificial color/artificial flavor-free candies and treats.  (I highly recommend them!  I ordered all Christmas and Easter candy from them this past year; their prices are fair and customer service is unbeatable!)  Whole Foods also carries this brand.

I think the picture says it all:

It’s OK.

I mean, you see the limpish thumb and the tolerant face.  It’s not the gleeful joy we’ve seen before with chocolate cake.  Still, it’s jiggly, it’s sweet, and I have found that other children will eat it.  And that’s cool because it is priced ($1.69)–only slightly higher than standard Jello.

I’m no photographer, but if you look closely, you might spy the cloudy nature of the product.  And while that is troublesome to those of us accustomed to the clear, jewel-like gleam of the Jello brand product, what is more confounding is best described by Edward’s question:  “What’s the brown dust in the bottom of my bowl?”

Yes, you can’t see it with my limited photographic skills, but there is a brownish sediment that settles to the bottom of the Jello-like product once it is molded.  Perhaps the beet juice coloring is the culprit?  I don’t know.

It won’t send children running in from the yard, but at least it’s sweet.

Maybe we can break out the microscope next week and research this mysterious brown sediment further.  In the meantime, I’ll buy it again.

I guess.

Maybe I should mold it into shapes?

Brilliante Web Log Award: The Chosen Seven

MT at The Bon Bon Gazette has absolutely made my week by nominating me for my very first award!

(It’s almost made me forget about the rabid (?) squirrel languishing in a Huggies box in my back yard.  I actually got a shovel and scooped it up so my children could play, uncontaminated.  Lucky H can deal this when he gets home!  I’d take a picture but it’s less than uplifting.  This has been an excellent opportunity to discuss rabies, however, and why we do not handle sickly woodland creatures even when they are weak enough for us to force-feed them milk from a doll bottle in an attempt at resuscitation.

This was a serious suggestion. Here, you see it replicated with a stuffed elephant.  I always relish discussing those 6-inch rabies stomach needles…children’s eyes get so big with that one.)

I digress.

Anyway, MT has been one of my very best blog friends since I started blogging earnestly about a month ago.  Her encouragement and friendship have carried me through the days I seriously considered stopping.  Please check out her blog when you have a chance and I promise you will make a new friend!

1. Out-Numbered Two to One I left my very first blog comment ever on Mrs. Bear’s web site after I saw her on the NaBloPoMo list.  Since then, she has become such a dependable, encouraging friend.  Mrs. Bear has four children from toddler to teen, so she has wisdom for all situations.  Plus she is amazingly honest, sincerely funny and an incredibly talented writer.

2. Mom’s Ministry & More You’ve got to love somebody whose nickname is “Stone Fox!”  Heidi recently adopted a new baby, so now she has two children that are something like 6 months apart and a 6-year-old.  And if you think that’s tough, consider she is raising this group in Asia!  She has a fascinating perspective on life, and is profoundly funny!

3. Pancakes Gone Awry Patty and I are traveling some incredibly familiar roads in our search for the best way to help our sons with Sensory Processing issues.  She has become such a blessing to me.  But don’t think it’s all serious!  Patty’s son is incredibly gifted and makes the most intriguing and hilarious comments, which she chronicles with her own brand of contagious humor–you’ll be laughing!  Poignant and entertaining! 

4. Tara’s View of the World If you are looking for honesty and an authentic voice, you shouldn’t miss Tara.  She is not afraid to tackle the challenges of being a pastor’s wife with a refreshing Christian perspective that is rare.  P.S.  She also has giveaways!

5. Connor Cole’s Mom Since she has been blogging for almost 2 years, I’m sure Kim has already won this award once, (and possibly twice), but just in case, I’ll award it again!  Kim has been a dear friend for the last 9 years, and she has been one of my greatest “blogging encouragers!”  Her writing style is fresh, funny and peppered with lots of crazy pictures of her creative boys, who happen to be great friends with my innovative boys.  And that leads to some unforgettable stories!  (As well as a few you might want to forget!)

6.  Van Pan I wouldn’t be a good wife if I didn’t nominate my sweetheart’s new web site, which chronicles how ridiculously filthy the children and I render our Town & Country van.  Check out his site and leave a comment if you have a minute.  Fairly soon, I’ll have more details about how you, too, can become a “Van Pan Fan” and submit your own photographs to the site!  Sounds fun, eh?

7.  Good Enough Mama Kia is another kindred spirit I’ve met in my few short weeks in the blogging world.  And she has spectacularly highlighted hair!  Just visit her blog and you’ll see!  She is a fabulous mother–way better than just “good enough.”

So now I officially tag my Chosen Seven, and send you off into the bloggy world to make someone else’s day!  Have a grand old time!

1. The winner can put the logo on their blog.
2. Link to the person you received your award from.
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs.
4. Put links of those blogs on yours.
5. Leave a message on the blogs you’ve nominated.

These Are The Hands

These are the hands that were ready to eat dinner tonight just like this!

These are the hands that almost got the princess panties pulled down in time.  But didn’t.  And the “didn’t” ran all over the unsealed travertine tile in our recently renovated master bathroom.  And the two hands tried to rub in clean up the two types of “didn’t” with about $4.00 worth of “Kandoo” sensitive wipes before the queen was summoned.  So much for this sanctuary spa bath dream…

These are the hands that wrote a note to the rather proper single interior decorator friend of his mother thanking her for the opportunity to “learn more about roaches” in her home.  The mother of these hands did not bother to proofread the thank-you note before it was sent.

These are the hands that decided it made sense to bash a hard candy to bits (in order to prevent a small sister’s choking) yet chose the handle of a large kitchen knife for said bashing.  Miraculously, all fingers on these hands remain intact.

These are the hands that grasped a permanent green marker just quickly enough to make two largish green dots on a new Gymboree blouse.  (At least we wore it to preschool one time.)

These are the hands that will dig down in the greasy crevice behind a restaurant booth to excise a grimy penny with the same thrill as unearthing a Spanish doubloon.

These are my favorite hands in all the world.  I like them best when they are clean with trimmed fingernails.  But I’ll take ‘em like this, too!

Except not in my kitchen.