Guilty Pleasures

In a week full of stress, chaos and sickness, I need to take a moment and pause to reflect on some of my guilty pleasures.

A couple of them might surprise most of the folks who know me.

1. I am a Gleek.
In high school, I wanted very badly to be part of the glee club. Sadly I can't carry a tune for squat, so I was resigned to being an avid appreciator and supporter.
From the first episode I was drawn in to the plot and had fallen in love with the music.
You will note that my Playlist has been altered to include some tracks from Glee - including one by Lady Gaga, who I loathe. (Apparently I just really dislike her voice, because her songs with someone else singing them, are really good!)

Because I just love this stuff... well, if you don't watch, maybe you'll decide to check it out after viewing these!






2. I LOVE So You Think You Can Dance!
I am positively addicted to that show much the way that some folks are fastened to the tv when American Idol comes on.
This season, my favorite is Alex. He's just wonderful... and to prove it I am subjecting you all to a video clip of last night's performance.
When looking at it you will see that the choreography is impressive, but as you are viewing, keep in mind that this kid is classically trained member of the Miami Ballet (as his narrative explains). His skills just blow my mind. (you can stop it after the routine ends if you are not a SYTYCD viewer... it's just lots of praise and love for the skillz)




3. Chick pop.
Orianthi. Kelly Clarkson. Katy Perry.... Lily Allen.... NOT Lady Gaga.
Catchy tunes, sung by girls. Sometimes it's a solo artist ( which is usually the case) and sometimes it's a band, but it's always entertaining to me.
I love it when I'm alone in the car and have an opportunity to turn the radio up very loudly and sing along in what is probably off key to anyone else who can hear it. A rather liberating feeling.


4. Chocolate and peanut butter.
Two great tastes that are PERFECT together.
Be it in a Reese's form, one of the multitude of mixable options at Coldstone, my all time favorite chocolate peanut butter frozen yogurt or just dunking a Hershey bar straight into the peanut butter jar, I am all about the fix. Probably more so than I should be, as my waist line and borderline diabetic blood sugar levels would indicate.


5. Martha, Martha, Martha!
It's no secret. I have something of a deranged crush on Martha Stewart. I'd love to hire her to make over my house and organize my life.. or just follow her around and absorb the endless bits of data and hope that some of her creativity rubs off onto me.
Some people think she's a drunk and a bitch. I say that genius often comes in unique packaging.


Now that I have bared my soul for all the world (all twenty or so who lurk here now and then) to see, I will leave you with the hope that I will actually upload some of the project photos soon.

It's been a while...

I almost forgot that I had this thing.

So much has happened, and yet nothing has changed.

I'd like to think that I'll get better about posting on here, and maybe I will. But probably I won't.

But I did do a makeover and a few updates and I will post some images of projects in the coming days. Incentive for me to make things and save the ideas for posterity.

And so it begins.

That sounds very ominous, but I assure you that it is meant with only a sigh of relief and a bit of nervous anticipation.

After weeks and weeks of phone calls, waiting, phone tag, a combined three hours and twelve minutes of sitting on hold, and a whole lot of beating my head into the desktop in frustration, we're FINALLY starting Iain's testing.

Met with the neuropsychologist on Friday. Really nice lady, and for the first time, I spoke with a professional who actually understood where Chris and I have been coming from.
Added bonus being that because so many kids are stuck in that same crack - too smart and capable to be classified as severely impaired in any facet, but nowhere near regular ed. classroom ready or developmentally caught up to speed - the program that we are working with has found some very creative and helpful ways of dodging some of the beauracracy and red tape b.s. that we've been tangled in thus far.

Round One begins on Friday, at 9:00 AM. *insert cheering here*

The last four days have been spent carefully filling out endless sheets of home analysis paperwork - filling in boxes, rating things from 0 to 6, and making lots and lots of notes.

But this time is different. I don't feel like I am doing it for nothing.
I know that it is solely because it is what they are paid to do, but the feeling of knowing that when it's over we will actually know what it is that makes Iain tick, and gain a foothold in the ways that we can best help him succeed... it's like Christmas in July, but ten times cooler.

The battle is nowhere near over, thanks to Michigan's insurance laws, but at least that part is being fought by an entire army of angry parents. Safety in numbers feels pretty darn good right now. Uphill as a group is much more productive than uphill alone.

The next few weeks will be filled with testing, coupled with paperwork for end of the year obligations at work, other responsibilities (the words 'taste of Grand Rapids' have started to turn my stomach sour, as they do every July), juggling events on my calendar, and trying to maintain a sliver of my sanity.

But it is worth it. So very worth it.

When things quiet down, and I'm back in project mode, I'll post some happy, crafty things. But for now, this is as good as it gets.

Dear Jessica,

I honestly didn't know if I would write this blog.

If I could write this blog.

It's hard to believe that ten years have passed. A decade that could have been so very different... that would have if...

If.

There's this country singer who was unknown... well anyhow, the first time that I heard Kenny Chesney's song "Who You'd Be Today" I broke down, sobbing like it all happened yesterday.
Those are questions that I often ask - What would your wedding have been like? Which name would you and Rob have bestowed upon your first child?

I didn't even get to tell you that I was pregnant for Jennah. I called your apartment and left a message on the machine, hoping that I'd hear from you the following day.
A few hours later, you were gone.
When we found out that she was a girl, Chris asked me if I wanted to name her Jessica Ann. I said that there was no way that I could replace you, and that it was best to leave your name with your memory (and that I feared that your mom would try to form some creepy attachment to my kid... really, we both know I'm right).

In an effort of goodwill, your mom gave me the soft teal frock coat and hat that you wore in the spring photo that your grandfather took, when you were barely a year old. I still have them, hanging in my closet, but I never did put them on Jennah. I couldn't. But I will keep them always.

Just as I will, every May, check the OTIS website. Just to see.

Logically, I know that nothing will change. That Marc's name will still be there, and that faithfully checking every year won't bring you back. But it makes me feel better.
One day I'll look and his name will be gone, and I know that only then, will justice truly be served. My hope is that the day is a long time from now, so that he had to spend many, many decades, locked inside a prison cell, away from everything he enjoyed, until finally dying at ripe old age, full of remorse and regret.
Of all the things he was and is, I do think that he felt guilty. We all knew that he felt more for you than you did for him. We just never expected it to end the way that it did. That his mind was that sick and corrupt.

I consoled that him at your funeral. He looked so lost and out of place. Staring at the floor, wearing his Pizza Hut uniform hat, making himself stand out even further against the prim and proper of the church sanctuary. No one suspected him. Least of all your mother.
How he fooled us all, though thankfully not for very long.

About a week after we laid you to rest, Pearl Jam released a cover of "Last Kiss". The irnony did not escape me. Your favorite band, covering your favorite song. You would have been thrilled. You would have laughed at the morose humor in it all.

More than anything, I want to say that I'm sorry that I haven't been there.
To the cemetery. That just doesn't feel like where you are. It's stone slab, with a photo of your head, superimposed onto Natalie's body, holding your violin. If you mom had asked, I could've and would've given her the picture that your loved - the one that I took of you, playing your guitar.
To check on your mom. That one I did quite often, and still do now and then. But she's gone in a way that I cannot fix, and listening to her tears the wound open fresh every time. I don't think that she'll ever heal, or that she ever wants anyone else to.
To the park. I was, once. I had to see the sunflowers. But I felt your presence, and it wasn't the warm and peaceful feeling that I was hoping for, so I quickly departed, tears streaming down my face. I left there hating Marc even more than I did the day before. Even more than I did the day that the story broke on the front page of the Press, naming him as the bastard who stole you away from so many who loved you.

But those things I can still do. There's still time to make them right. And I will (though with your mom, it is hard.. like I said, she's gone way off the deep end. Even for her.).
But I didn't walk up to the casket, and I can't undo that.

Chris tried to make me, but I just couldn't. I could see you lying there, in your cap and gown, and I knew that if I got even one step closer, I was going to break down in front of hundreds of people. You know me - that's not my style. You would've expected better than that. And truthfully, it was a pain that I just couldn't bear. I waas afraid that those tears would never stop.

I did look at the pictures that your mom took, though it was some time later that I saw them. The cake makeup to cover the welts on your forehead (oh, how you'd have hated the hairstyle, but trust me when I say it was necessary), and the bruises on your neck that wouldn't be hidden, no matter what tricks the morticians tried.
Your aunt said that it was your way of showing your killer that you were still strong. That he would be punished. I think that she was right.


There were days that you drove me crazy. That I wondered whose sick sense of humor placed you in my life. My constant shadow, like an enthusiastic and willful puppy. Always begging to tag along. Always needing to be kept out of trouble.
I raised you, supervised you and bailed you out of troubled. Mentored you and chewed your behind when you were being too foolish... not that you ever really listened. Heart on your sleeve and head in the clouds. Happiest outside with your guitar, sitting cross legged on the sidewalk, amongst the vagrant youth downtown.
Forever thinking you could save the world, never not trying. To live with that much enthusiasm would have been exhausting for anyone else. But not you. Never, ever you, Jessie.

I barely knew my sister when you left my life. You were only days apart in age, and at that time, far dearer to me than she was. You're two completely different people, but as I see Susan doing things with her life, I sometimes wonder what you'd be doing now.
But I never wonder whether or not you'd be happy. I know you would be.
My hope is that you are as content now as you were then. That sunflowers bloom when you smile.

Anyhow, I just wanted you to know that even thought it's been ten years, you haven't been forgotten.

I miss you, Jessie. I always will.

I'm not really sure what to call this one...

Children really are a miracle unto themselves.

When your first child comes into your life, it's a whole new experience. Everything is amazing, and one tends to fuss over things that one never found amsuing before, and celebrate the smallest achievements as though they were the discovery for a cure for cancer.
Yet, somehow, you assume that certain things will happen, no matter how slowly or quickly those events transpire.
Your child will talk, walk, and potty train. They will tie their shoes. They'll learn to identify shapes, and colors. To count. To read.
When it will happen isn't so much an assumption, but that it will happen, well, that's a given, right?

As parents, we get frustrated when our preschooler is still having toileting accidents out of pure laziness, when our school ages child feigns helpless when being told to tie their shoes or zip a coat. We know that they know those things, and we know that they are capable... therefore we assume that the child will simply do them.

Not unrealistic by any means, but also not always the case.

All of those assumptions go right out the window if you have a child with special needs. Those milestones are no longer assumptions. They are victories.

If you don't have a child with any type of disability, take a moment an observe a parent who does. Watch that mom or dad watch their son as he runs bases or reads a passage from a book.
See the look of pride when their daughter is standing on roller skates for the first time, or paints a picture of a field filled with flowers and butterflies.
It's very humbling, and it makes me very grateful that my son isn't more severely delayed (it probably sounds sad to an outsider, but I take solace n the fact that it could always be worse), and I also feel a sense of understanding, because I get it. To a lesser extent, I live it.

Yesterday, wasn't about rejoicing over something that my kid did in spite of his disability. It was just about my kid being a kid.

Iain, in spite of his delays, has never had a problem with his gross or fine motor skills. He walked early, climbed like a monkey and has rather impressive coordination. Yet, because he was in a special education program, he received some occupational therapy.
That took his already decent GMS and FMS and made them sharp.

Iain swings a bat with decent accuracy, runs with a soccer ball and is quite the bowler. Why his immediate response to a bicycle surprised me, I am not really sure.

The boys and I went out to have lunch with Papa on Friday, as they didn't have school. Since Chris is building a school, and there's all kinds of equipment around, it's a fascinating experience for them (plus, they get a kick out of hanging out with dad during the work day).
After saying our "see you later"s to their father, we made a group decision that no one was ready to go home. Nice weather, busy stretch of suburban road... prime garage sale territory.

During one of our stops, we found a bike. Great shape - almost new - and cheap! Five bucks and it was hours. Fit nicely into the trunk, and I didn't even think about the size (a 16", when we were planning to buy a 20", and training wheel equip it for the summer ), assuming that we'd slap some training wheels onto it, and hand it directly to Spud, versus buying him a scooter, as we'd originally discussed.

After an afternoon in the Ninth Circle of Hell (or as many of you call, it, Chuck E. Cheese's), I decided to finally haul said aquisition out of the trunk, and see how well Iain did in terms of keeping the frame upright.
In short, we're not going to bother with training wheels. At least not until Iain fits onto a 20" bike and the smaller model gets handed to Braeden.

It's days like yesterday that offset the days of frustration, making them seem small and unimportant, even if only for a little while.
My son has developmental delays, but he's able to do some pretty awesome stuff. Like get onto an unsupported two wheeled bike and take off down the road like he's been riding on his own for weeks. Wobbly on the outside, but confident that he'll lick it and be racing with the big kids in no time. And he will be.

...and he had the good sense to ask for his helmet, which I LOVED.

Today has been a day par quo, of melt downs and reminders. Of pestering even after asking for the same thing ten minutes ago, only to forget before he makes it up the stairs.

But yesterday... yesterday I saw progress. And progress was an amazing feeling.

Every once in a while...

I manage to whip up something that I am pleased with. It's usually on the fly, and a total whim (whereas the stuff that I sit down and think about goes all wrong), but somehow it comes out okay.

I challenged myself to use up pieces of other stuff that I had around the house (part of my 'Procrastinators No more!' thread, but a couple of days past the April challenge deadline), and it worked.
A piece from an SCS swap (Kelli, if you're seeing this, the sundae cup was from your Grease creation from Kate's swap), scraps of paper, glitter remnants, industrial caulking tape, left over from a five year old RAK...

And Ward wonders why I don't throw anything away...

I made this for my boys' kindergarten teacher. She's an absolute ice cream junkie. I've never seen anyone who loves it more (she rented a soft serve machine from a company so often that they offered to sell it to her... and of couse she accepted).

My only regrets: that I didn't think of it three days sooner so that I'd have had more time to let it dry between layers (because all that Triple Thick and Diamond Glaze made me downright loopy), and that I didn't make the whipped cream a bit fluffier. (although when sitting on pooling hot fudge, it does tend to melt quickly).

Anyhow, I added some hot chocolate essential oil to the process and the darn thing makes the classroom smell divine.

So there you have it. My most recent project - at least most recent that I have been truly pleased with anyhow.
And it worked out as an update to my blog, which I've been slacking on somethin' fierce.

Slacking Again, and Kudos Galore

So much happens, and there is never enough hours in a day to post even half of it.

In fairly recent news, and as many people have already heard, Jennah had a piece submitted into the citywide art display at the UICA.
Miss J has quite the creative apitiude, and her art teacher, Mrs. Ford, does much credit in that she brings it out of Jennah and enables her to shine.

I can quite proudly say that the nut didn't fall far from the tree, and for once it doesn't relate to something obnoxious and sexist that my boys have inherited from their father.

Rather than ramble in my usual fashion, I will close with two photos; one of Miss J next to her piece (which, for clarification is her cat, Dinah and an expanded theme), and of of Jennah with Mrs. Ford.

I love that my kid is artsy and nerdy. If she continues on this path, she'll be a well rounded young lady.

*it's hard to see, but the row of brown across the top is a string of pet mice.

One more thing, before I forget... Mrs. Ford gave me aheads up on something... all of Frost's students with exhibited pieces will receive a ceremonious nod and a plaque during the Monday morning meeting the day that school resumes.

Good thing that I had to go to the school last Thursday. I wouldn't want to miss that!