2010 by the Numbers

7 How old Aliza turned in January. She is in second grade now and growing so fast. This past summer I noticed that sometimes she was having to get up and walk to the TV to see it clearly, so she went to see her favorite Optometrist, her grandpa Mike, and got fitted for glasses. They are purple and so cute!

1 The level of competition dance class Aliza is in this year. You don’t want to know the number that represents the cost of the competition costume.

270 The number of times Mark has come home from the new job he started in March, feeling grateful and blessed to have one finally after such a long unemployment stint.

5&5 How many years old the boys turned on Valentine’s Day. They started kindergarten in September and are doing great!

6  Number of months the boys have really been talking.  I didn't realize it's only been 6 months until I started reviewing posts.  This blog is such a great way to keep track of their progress.  Why is it so easy to forget when they couldn't talk at all?  How come I take this for granted?

Here's one post that documents AJ's big talking progress.  Here's another that discusses more miracles in speech, just last June.  Here's one that chronicles their new love of counting.  It's really been an amazing year for the boys!  One year ago all I could get out of them was "hi," and I think that was just AJ.  Now they both talk up a storm.  All right, perhaps saying they "talk up a storm" is a bit of an exaggeration, but you can't blame me, I'm excited and proud!  AJ is over here right now watching the Monkey Dance and singing along...."jump, back, forth!"  I wouldn't have believed it, a year ago.

927 Estimated number of times we took the kids swimming this summer. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It’s probably more close to the number of pictures I took of them swimming. Or perhaps it’s the number of times they jumped on the trampoline this summer.

23 Number of years Mark’s been playing softball. That’s got to be some kind of record. He’d be the Brett Favre of softball, but he still plays for the same team.

2 Number of years I spent working as Newsletter Editor for the Minnesota Valley Mothers of Multiples club, before deciding I was ready for a change this past year, and switched to Publicity Coordinator. I love the club and love being on the board with all the wonderful MOMs.

1 New newsletter I’m working on now is New for Networking, a newsletter that goes out to all the parents of special needs children ages birth to 5 in Dakota County. I volunteer on a committee for ARC and when it came up that they needed someone to do this newsletter I jumped at the chance.

740 Number of people who attended the International Fragile X Conference in Detroit in July, including Mark and I.

3 Number of days AJ and I spent at the Waisman Center in Madison, WI in November so he could participate in a word learning study for kids with Fragile X Syndrome and autism. He was a great study participant, and he and I did a little shopping (i.e., I dragged him around a bookstore), a little swimming, and a lot of hanging out in the hotel room watching the Wiggles on You Tube.

2 Number of times AJ threw up in the car on the way to Madison.

0 Number of paper towel rolls I had in the car.

Thank you all for following along with us on our thrilling year of leaps and bounds!  We eagerly anticipate more joy and adventures in 2011, and you can be certain it'll all appear right here on The Fragile X Files!

The Autism Store, Live and In Person

I just have to say it.  I love The Autism Store.



I love even more that it's not just online, it's local!  That's right!  I can drive less than a half hour and walk right in and shop, live and in person!  No looking at pictures!  No wondering just how big or small or cool or fun or lame or strange or useful something really is!  No paying shipping and waiting for it to come in the mail!

We went over there this afternoon and got some new chewies for AJ.  And as long as we were there, and shopping in person, I decided to try a couple chewies and fidget toys for Zack too.  I would never have tried these things just seeing them online.  But I picked them up, looked them over, felt them, and decided to give them a shot.



The boys were with me and they both said "no" to everything I showed them, but they didn't mean it.  When they say no, sometimes they mean "I have to say no to everything, it's one of the first rules you learn in kidschool.  It doesn't really mean no."

thought we'd try a tangle toy too.



The only bad thing about the whole experience was that I forgot something that should be a rule-of-thumb for anyone ever driving in the Mpls/St. Paul area, and that is

AVOID 494 AT ALL COSTS.

It doesn't matter if it's 3 in the afternoon or 3 AM, 494 is a parking lot.  We got back home 7 minutes late and there were 6 (yes, six) people sitting in 6 cars outside my house, waiting to begin therapy and evaluating at noon.  Oops.  Darn 494.



That and AJ didn't enjoy the car ride.  For the first few minutes he was behind me screaming "No?  No?  Aaaaarrrggghhhhh, All done!  All done!  Bye Bye!  No?  No?  Good job buddy!  Aaaaaarwwwww."  I changed the Wiggles CD and he seemed happier.  Didn't want to try his new chewy in the car, but at home he was all over it.

Sign Language as Number One

*The author of this article, Kathleen Thomas, asked me if I'd share this with you.  I read through it and thought it was interesting in a couple of aspects;

1.  I hadn't thought about knowing sign language as a possible career boost for our kids.  We are so busy trying to get them to communicate, we don't even realize that by teaching them sign language, we might be giving them a leg up in their adult professional lives.  One more reason that knowing how to communicate in sign language is a great benefit.

2.  I also thought the history of sign language from the very beginnings of man was fascinating.  I never stopped to think about where it came from but it makes perfect sense that man would use gestures before speaking words.  And all over the world people use gestures when there are language barriers.  We all use some sign language now and then whether we realize it or not.  When I have time I might have to read up on this some more.

Communicating With Your Baby

Possessing the ability to speak and communicate in more than one language in today's society is priceless. This type of study usually begins in middle school, or high school for many kids in America. However, these days bilingual education is being taught at a younger age, before kids attend preschool, before they take their first step, and even before they say their first word, through sign language.

The ability to communicate articulately in a variety of ways and languages to the widest possible audience is a great way to stay ahead and ensure a decent standard of living in our suffering economic state. This is not limited to speaking different languages but also non-verbal communication: signing.

As a result of the shortage of American Sign Language interpreters the job opportunities in this field have really opened up, and if current trends continue, it is likely that why will stay this way.

First Words

The toddler years and beyond – ages 2 to five –are an ample time to educate children in different modes of communication and language because of their brain development course. This goes beyond the spoken word (though it is an optimal time for children to learn a second language); many young children have an aptitude for signing as well.

American Indian nations have used sign language for centuries to facilitate communication with other tribes with whom they do not share a language. Some paleontologists and anthropologists theorize that Neanderthals – who apparently lacked the vocal mechanism to produce many spoken words – depended a great deal upon hand gestures to communicate. Therefore it is not as strange as one would think.

In fact, recent research suggests that sign language is innate. An article published in the Boulder Daily Camera in 2003 presented strong evidence that babies as young as six months old communicate with their hands:

The National Institute of Child Health and Human Development are also referred to by the author, demonstrating that young children who are taught sign language at an early age whether at day care or at home, actually develop better verbal skills as they get older. The ability to sign has also helped parents in communicating with autistic children; one parent reports that "using sign language allowed her to communicate with her [autistic] son and minimized his frustration...[he now] has an advanced vocabulary and excels in math, spelling and music" (Glarion, 2003).

Lasting Results

The benefits of early childhood education through signing are endless. In addition to giving kids a way to communicate, it also provides them with an opportunity to form a bond with their parent(s). The hope is that eventually it will become know as one of the "firsts" that no parent wants to miss, such as the first time they walked or their first tooth. Signing is likely to allow communication much earlier than verbally. It creates a closeness that will allow parents to be more in sync with their child's thoughts and needs.

Co-written by Emily Patterson and Kathleen Thomas
Emily and Kathleen are Communications Coordinators for the network of Austin day care facilities belonging to the AdvancED® accredited family of Primrose day care schools. Primrose Schools are located in 16 states throughout the U.S. and are dedicated to delivering progressive, early childhood, Balanced Learning® curriculum throughout their preschools.

Oh Holy Weekend

We had three Christmas celebrations to cover this weekend at three different houses, along with some travel. So we had meticulously planned out every aspect of our weekend.

It all began on Friday -- Christmas eve.

Mark didn'thave Christmas eve off work (Friday). So the kids and I went to grandma & grandpa's house in the middle of the afternoon, and daddy followed along later in the evening after work. It wasn't ideal to have to take two cars, but it ended up working out well because this way, Mark could set out the Santa presents, eat the cookies, and drink the milk that Aliza had set out for him. By the time we got back home on Christmas day, the house would be all set up, showing evidence of Santa's arrival. For Aliza. Although the boys know who Santa is, I don't think they are caught up in the whole story of Santa's travels on Christmas eve.

So Christmas eve, hanging out at my parents' house, went as planned.  I would have liked to have had time to drive around town looking at Christmas lights, but we didn't specifically write that into the plan, so it didn't happen.

Christmas morning we waited for Uncle James, Auntie Kim, and Jocelyn to come over so the kids could open their presents.  Aliza had been gazing longingly under the tree since the night before.

Zack didn't want to open any presents.  I guess the nine of us were too much of a crowd for him.  So we let him escape back to the basement and to his Wonder Pets.

AJ, though, really got into the ripping and tearing part of presents.  He was only slightly interested in what was inside, but he sure got into the opening part.  Especially the ones that had Dora wrapping paper.

So, we figured one out of two wasn't bad.  We let AJ open all Zack's presents.

Jocelyn got some fun presents and we all had a great time hanging out with her.  She's two, and turning into a little spitfire.

Later we were talking about getting ready to head home, when Aliza announced that she was excited to go see what Santa had put in her stocking.

Oops!  The stockings --I forgot to have Mark do the stockings.  Okay well no problem, we were in two cars -- one of us could leave a few minutes before the other, get home first, and quick do the stocking stuffing.

So we starting packing up the cars.  We determined that Mark would leave first in my car with the boys, because they were tired and ready to go, and the DVD player was already all set up in my car and ready for them.  Mark took my keys and packed up both vans.  Aliza and I were going to follow along a few minutes behind them in Mark's car.  I told her it would be a great chance for her and I to have girl talk.

Then as we were saying goodbye, Jocelyn let me hold her. Which I appreciated and was a little bit of a Christmas miracle, because she is a two-year-old, after all, and quite busy and quite discriminating about who is allowed to take up her time and when.  And it's not that I don't get to hold kids, having a couple of five-year-olds who think they are two-year-olds, but she's just so compact and soft and still so babylike.  So we cuddled for a minute.

I'm going somewhere here, I promise.  Stay with me.

So off Mark goes with the boys, we do all our bye-byes, and I go back in to the house to see what else we forgot.  I find the pile of blankets and pillows we brought and throw those in Mark's van.  I see that the boys' sippy cups are still here, filled with milk, but I have the cooler with their medicine, so I can just throw the sippys in there.  We're good to go.

I'm not sure what triggered the thought but at this point it dawns on me that Mark never gave me the keys to his car.  I check my pockets.  I check the table next to the door where he always puts them when we're at grandma & grandpa's house.  No keys.

Oh, holy night.

I turn and look sharply at the driveway, as if I'm going to see the tail end of my car rounding the corner.  As if he didn't leave 25 minutes ago.  As if there's a chance I could catch him.

I go in and break the news.  We are stranded here, I have no keys to the van.  My dad says to call him -- doesn't he have a cell phone?  Well no actually, he doesn't.  We have a cell phone, which I usually carry.  Yes, it's nearly 2011, and Mark doesn't have a cell phone.

And I don't think we were aware of it at the time, but this is the point at which all logical thinking went right out the window.

My quick thinking brother suggests immediately that we call the police and have them pull him over and tell him to come back.  I think about how much Mark would love getting pulled over by the police on Christmas.  I don't know if they would even do that.

But, wait, I have an even smarter plan.  I think I can hop in my parents' car and fly down the highway, and catch up to him.  Because apparently I'm going to drive like a bat out of hell.  Oh and did I mention that it had been snowing most of the day?  And that my parents live on a gravel road, which when it's cold and icy, is like driving on marbles?

We give it a good try anyway, me and my dad.  We drive like crazy people probably a quarter mile down the road before we accept that this is perhaps not the best plan.  We turn around and go back.  Okay, on to plan B.

Plan B is to take one of my parents' cars, and just return later in the week for the van.  So we quickly transfer everything in the van -- the blankets and pillows, presents, and my computer, camera, and purse to my dad's car.  There's a long, intense discussion about when we are going to do the car switch, because there's another snowstorm expected later this week, and if the van sits out in the driveway for too long it not only will be in danger of not starting, but it'll be snowed in.

We try to put it in neutral to roll it into the garage.  But you can't put it in nuetral without the keys.

So Aliza and I take off in dad's car.

I'm stressed though.  I'm worried that Mark's going to realize he still has his own keys in his pocket at some point and he's going to freak out and turn around, and come back to my parents house. Aliza and I peel our eyes looking at every car coming the other way, to see if it's our van.  I cannot imagine what he's going to say, but he's not going to be happy.  Oh, if only we hadn't been in such an all-fired hurry.

Aliza and I get about an hour down the highway before she decides she has to stop and go potty, which is interesting in itself because this kid, who brags about how she can get through a 6 hour school day without visiting the bathroom once, apparently can't go more than an hour in the car without having to go.

We stop a gas station and while she's in the bathroom I call home to see if Mark has arrived yet.  He has; he is a little breathless from having quickly gotten the stockings stuffed and the boys out of the car.  He wants to know how our drive has been.  I tell him it's fine, and ask if he's noticed yet that he still has his car keys on him.

He pauses and says he doesn't; he put them in my pocket when I was holding Jocelyn.  I say no, I've checked my coat pockets over and over.  He says no, not my coat pocket, my sweatshirt pocket.  I didn't have my coat on yet when I was holding Joci.  I unzip my coat, check my sweatshirt pocket, and -

Oh.  Oh holy christmas tree.  There they are.

I don't think I spoke for several seconds.  I needed a little time to process what a dork I am.  Only I wasn't thinking "dork,", that's just my effort to keep this PG.

So to make a long story short (too late?), we arrived home and to her great delight, Aliza found that Santa had left her and her brothers presents, and stockings full of goodies.  And I tried to get over the overwhelming desire to climb into a hole somewhere and stay there until all memory of this event had passed.

And I have to end by saying what an utterly wonderful family we have.  We are so enormously blessed by family who loves our children wholly and unconditionally.  No matter whether they behave appropriately.  No matter whether they say "thank you."  Our children have aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents who all go out of their way to make them feel joy and love, during the holidays and all year long.

We are so grateful to have family that not only accepts our boys as they are, but goes out of their way to show them love and affection.  That is our real Christmas present!

All We Want for Christmas is a Giant Fitted Sheet

Merry Christmas!

It's finally here -- Christmas eve.  No point in rushing or worrying anymore, time has run out.  Nothing left to do but relax and bask in the Christmas atmosphere.

It's snowing again, if you can even believe that.  We are withing an inch or so of breaking the snowfall record for the month of December, a record that has stood as long as I have.  Literally -- the record was set the year I was born (which technically, was not a year I actually stood.  But I existed.)

We made some Christmas cookies yesterday that would send anyone into a diabetic attack.

I began my relaxing and reveling by making a few changes to the blog, trying to add a little color and festiveness.  It's like a blank canvas and there are so many awesome things you can do to a blog, I have to change it up once in awhile. It's like rearranging the furniture.  It can make everything seem new and exciting again, and it felt like the right time of year to make things new.

So we're off to revel in Christmas.  Enjoy the snow (as long as it doesn't interfere with travel).  Watch the children open presents.  Take pictures.  Sleep in (yeah, right).  Dream.  Indulge.  Luxuriate.  Savor.

giving

Aliza has a very generous heart.  She gets that from me.

She's very caught up in the spirit of giving right now.  She dug up some toys and books in her room, wrapped them up, slapped labels on them with her friends' names, and stuck them under the tree.  She's quite tickled with herself that Christmas will be extra merry for those little girls.

This drives me crazy.

These are toys that I bought for her, or grandma and grandpa did.  Often they are things that should have a more significant value to her.  Sometimes it's an American Girl accessory that I know was ridiculously expensive.  Once she tried to give away the stuffed puppy her great-grandma gave her when she was a baby.

I've told her she should save her money and buy new things for her friends, if she really wants to give presents.  She just shrugs.  She doesn't have much money, since most of her allowance goes toward gum.

Gum that she tends to give away to her friends.

I'm trying to decide whether it's absolutely precious that she does this, or whether it's frivolous.  The spirit of giving is a great thing, but the fact that she apparently doesn't value gifts we give her is annoying.

Or am I thinking about this the wrong way?  Maybe I should get over being irritated and just let her give away all her things.  Commend her for being so generous.  Maybe I'm being stingy.

Maybe she doesn't get her kindhearted-ness from me.

On a completely separate note, AJ made a joke yesterday.

He had the day off of therapy so he had some free time, and he watched quite a bit of Dora.  Late in the afternoon he got a little silly, and he put his little hand in front of his mouth like he sometimes does when he's being shy, and he said "Hi.  I'm the map."  (Four words!)  Just like in practically every episode of Dora.

Then he'd fall over in a pile of giggles.

Tiny, Tiny Toys

Before the Christmas deluge of gifts and toys, I need to air a little gripe.

Why must so many little girls' toys be so small?  In my opinion, there's a very fine line between tiny children's toys, and garbage.

Here's one simple way to determine if a toy is too small:  Does it fit through a vaccuum cleaner hose?  Then it's garbage.  Is it smaller than say, a Cheerio?  Then it's too small to be a toy!  I don't care if you're over age three, it's too small.  I'm over age forty, and I need to be able to see what I'm vaccuuming up.

It's not even Barbie accessories I'm talking about here.  Hers things at least, are visible with the naked eye.  Now, Polly Pocket's things are tiny.

[Pencil added for size reference.]

And Silly Bandz.  Don't get me started.  Are they expensive and fun children's jewelry, or plastic crap?

Ah, now that depends on the location.  Location, as they say, is everything.

Are they tucked away in a jewelry box?  Or at least, somewhere within a child's bedroom?  Or are they on the living room floor?

Because those don't clog up the vaccuum cleaner hose at all.  I speak from experience.

27 and Still a Believer

This story recently made the rounds in the Fragile X email group.  It's a sweet tale for the holiday season.

Twenty-seven and Still a Believer

My son, Simon, still believes in Santa Claus. I recently helped him with his annual letter to Santa. This year, he requested a new whoopee cushion, snow boots, nunchuks for his Wii, a six-pack of Budweiser, and Catherine Zeta Jones. It's a weird list. But there’s a reason for the weirdness: Simon, age twenty-seven, has fragile X syndrome and is mentally impaired.

Simon’s mental age is hard to estimate. He can’t read or tell time; math might as well be Sanskrit. If you ask him what day of the week it is, he has to guess. “Saturday?” he’ll say. “Friday?” His speech is garbled and he can be hard to understand. But he’s a savvy guy who never leaves the house without a cool pair of sunglasses and a ball cap, who hangs out with aplomb, who recognizes anyone he has met even once and greets that person with genuine enthusiasm. He is particularly thrilled when he sees someone in a uniform: a police officer, the mail carrier, Santa Claus.

For the past twenty years, Simon has greeted every Santa Claus he has seen with the same chuckling hey-I-know-you approach. This is the pattern: He strides up to the red-suited man with an odd, almost stiff-legged, rolling gait, cracks the biggest smile in the mall, and says, “Hi Santa! Remember me? I’m Simon.” Then, because repetition is at Simon’s very essence, he lists, in a sing-song voice, what gifts he wants, ticking them off, one by one, on his fingertips. He has practiced this routine often. For the past several years, most of what he has wanted has come from electronics stores; he scrutinizes their flyers intently. He studies the newspaper too. In past years he asked Santa to help victims of Hurricane Katrina, the Asian Tsunami, and the earthquake in Haiti.

Because Simon doesn’t have a logical sense of time, he starts bugging me to leave out cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer as soon as he sees the first Christmas decoration of the year. “We need to put cookies out,” he’ll say. “Not tonight,” I’ll answer. “Christmas is a long time away.” Then I’ll show him the calendar and touch a pen to all the days. “A long time?” Simon will repeat. “A long time?” And the next night Simon will look at me, lift his eyebrows, as red as his hair, and ask if we can “put out cookies tonight?”

I assume some responsibility for Simon’s anxiety about the holiday. In theory, we shouldn’t celebrate Christmas at all. I’m Jewish. But my parents were agnostics. The family Christmas tree was a celebration of shopping, not Jesus. For the first six years of Simon’s life, when I was married to his father, a Methodist, we continued my family’s tradition of joyful gift-giving. Santa was visited, sat upon, and petitioned. Then I married my current husband, who was raised by observant Jews and could not accept a Christmas tree in the house. I had to assure Simon that tree or no tree, Santa would come. When he was little, we had a tree but no chimney, I pointed out. Then we had a chimney but no tree. Even when we had neither tree nor chimney, Santa came. Simon accepted the logic. Simon also accepted even the most bedraggled Santa, with his obviously fake beard and bleary brown eyes. As he grew older, though, he became more discerning. I had taught him the word “fake” to warn him about television advertising and scary movies. He understood acting and that’s the category into which he placed the inferior Santas. That category also allowed multiple Santas: one inside the mall, one outside the grocery store, one smoking behind the restaurant. If I asked, Simon told me where the real Santa was. “The North Pole, duh,” he said.

In some ways, Simon is a typical twenty-something. He stays up late; sleeps late. He’s had this pattern for years. So to perpetuate the myth of Santa I have to set my alarm for 3 a.m. on Christmas morning. I climb out of my warm bed and retrieve presents from their hiding places. I stuff the huge, stretchy stockings that my mother knitted, eat the cookies and carrots, dump the milk in the sink, run water to remove that evidence, and climb back into bed. Every year when that alarm rings, I question my sanity, my qualifications to mother this challenging child. Should I tell Simon the truth? Lying makes me uncomfortable. In fact, I pride myself on my honesty. I remember an argument I had years ago with my older son, Sam. “I have never lied to you!” I cried. “Santa Claus, tooth fairy, Easter bunny,” Sam said. “I rest my case.”

I know Simon has heard people say that Santa Claus is not real. One year we were at an event attended entirely by adults and someone made a loud, snide comment about a fictitious Santa. I glanced across the room at Simon. He usually avoids eye contact. But he met my gaze, shook his head. We know better, he seemed to say. And he settled, smug, in his chair.

By Nancy Abrams
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

This story is the embodiment of bittersweet for me.  I think it's a little charming.  But I can't help but be sad at the idea of a mother who still has to perpetuate the myth of Santa for her 27-year-old son.  It's beautiful and agonizing and inspiring and thought-provoking and heartbreaking all at once for me. 

I think appreciating this story necessitates a level of acceptance of the boys' condition that I have yet to arrive at.

Since their diagnosis four years ago, I've slowly become aware of the need for acceptance.  Every parent needs to accept their children as they are.  Naturally, it's pretty easy to accept Aliza as she is, knowing that she will grow up to BE Santa one day for her own children.  Accepting the fact that my boys most likely won't reach that level of mental maturity is not something I've been able to do.

There's a documentary called Living with Fragile X that tells the story several families living with Fragile X, including a set of identical twins.  It's a fantastic show, I've petitioned PBS to show it several times, and will keep trying until they broadcast it.

One of the mothers of a Fragile X son who is profiled in the film says this about her son:

"I wanted him to be normal.  And if I have any regrets, it's that I did not let myself love him at that moment.  Just say 'I love you just the way you are.'  And I hope he forgives me for ever thinking I wanted him to be different."

Her voice wavers as she says this and it stabs in the heart me every time I see it (click on the link above and watch the 2-minute trailer to see this mother and her son), because I know, I'm her.  I have not accepted Zack and AJ as they are.  I want them to be different.  I admit it.  I know it's awful.  But I can't help it.  I wish they were different.

I like to tell myself that I want them to be different for their own good; I want them to be less anxious and less impulsive and sleep better.  I think they'd be happier if they had a greater variety of interests and could communicate better.  Could go to our neighborhood school and be in that kindergarten class.  Go outside with their sister and play in the snow with the kids on our street.  I think all these things would really enrich their lives.

But it isn't just for them.  I want them to be different because I want normal kids.  Just like the mother in the video.  I don't want to regret thinking this way, when they are adults.  But I don't know how to just turn that feeling off.

 I don't know Nancy Abrams personally, but I emailed her and she gave me permission to reprint this here.  Thank you Nancy, for sharing this story and for showing me where I need to go to accept and love my boys as they are.  I have a long way to go, but I'm on my way.

Don't expect much from me today.

Because this is what my house looks like.

I know I've mentioned my eternal busy-ness before.  But I'm starting to feel like it's a real impediment, like a disorder or something.  I'm kind of paralyzed with overwhelmed-ness.

Is this a Fragile X gene-carrier thing? I don't know, and I'm pretty sure I can't concentrate long enough to look into it.

Well, no point in blogging and whining about it.  Might as well get up and try to assume some control of the house before therapy begins this afternoon, so that our therapists won't think I'm auditioning for Hoarders.

Snow is the fruit of the north.

[Inspired by Bubba's monologue "shrimp is the fruit of the sea" from Forrest Gump, and the colossal, record-setting blizzard we had on Saturday.]

Anyway like I was sayin', snow is the fruit of the north.  You can shovel it, plow it, throw it, eat it, melt it, sit in it, build with it, burrow in it.  There's snowbanks, snow caps, snowflakes, snowdrifts, snowsuits, and snowboots. 

You can sing Let it Snow, read The Snowy Day, Dream Snow, or The First Snow.   Watch Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Snow Falling on Cedars, or The Snows of Killimanjaro.

Go snowshoeing or snowboarding, eat snowcones, snowberries, and snow apples and look for a snowshoe hare or a snowy egret or a Japanese snow monkey.  You might suffer from snow blindness.  If you are super lucky you might get a snow day.  You could get snowed in or snowbound.  You can make snow angels, snowmen and snow forts. 

Pretend you are the Snow Queen.  Have a snowball fight.  Debate the superiority of the Heat Miser or the Snow Miser.

Drive a snow plow or push a snowblower.  Make sure you've got your snow tires on.

That's about it.  Unless you can think of something I missed!

An IEP Meeting, A Snowstorm, and Some Pictures

Yesterday morning at 7:30 we met to go over the boys' IEP.  School starts at 8:30, buses arrive about 10 minutes before that, so we did two IEPs in 45 minutes.  Good thing they are a lot alike.  We were like auctioneers; we talked fast and got the job done.  We skimmed quite a bit so I have some reading to do.  But my IEP meetings have never been the horror proceedings I hear others have.  Everyone agrees to what the boys' need as far as speech, OT, time in the regular classroom.  The fact that the needs may change when 1st grade starts next year is something that their teacher has already considered and incorporated into the IEP.

I've been slowly decking out the house for Christmas.  It's the only holiday I decorate for and I don't go all out, but I try to be a little festive.  Our theme is "hodgepodge of things that don't necessarily belong together from various times and places in our lives." 

Actually, that's pretty much the theme of our house decor year-round.

We're having another snowstorm today.  It's hard to say how much snow has fallen so far, since there was so much snow on the ground to begin with.  I think it's safe to say we'll have a white Christmas though.