Sunday, November 30, 2008


I have been feeling mightily ashamed at my technical incompetence on the blogroll front. So I buckled down today and fixed it the bit in my account that prevented me from getting blogroll code. Somehow or other I have managed to add my blogroll from bloglines, bit by bit.

Only one wee problem, I have not kept up to date with moving most of you around into different categories, so this may look a little goofy until I figure out that yes, you did have a baby and should be in the mom category, etc...frankly, I'm just amazed I didn't blow up the blog at this point, that having you all in proper categories would be too much for my puny brain!

So check out if I have a link to you and if you are in the right place. If not, leave a comment or email me, and I will add you or change you. FYI, a number of blogs have been moved to my "old outdated blogs" section because you haven't updated for a dog's age, but I still keep your feed, even though you can't see it right now and if you ever update or come back, I'll put you in the current area.

I think that may be the saddest part of this exercise, counting all the old friends who just haven't updated, or who shut down their blogs completely. Manuela at Thin Pink Line and 'Nilla, who are only on Facebook now, Meg at the Paragraph who I miss every single day, Thrice who I hope will come back, JJ who I hope will have good news, Casey my old bud....honestly, I really miss you all, even I know you had good reasons for no longer blogging. Sigh....

Onward and upward though, can't think about that now, too sad. Need happy.

So go visit Angry Aliens - where the movies redone in 30 second with bunnies troupe lives! Cartoon bunnies galore! Hot Bun on bun action!

I am also ramping up my annual holiday obsession of acquiring any and all DVDs and tapes of Rankin Bass animated specials, toys, and what have you. (I own some, but not ALL. Must acquire ALL.) Rudolph and all his animagic friends make me so happy, I can barely think. There is supposed to be a new animated special this year all about the Heat Miser and Snow Miser, and it sort of looks like the right artwork, but I can't tell from the tiny screen?

Future post---more about the helmet and boys and my now calmer hormones, etc. etc., not to mention my glee and hilarity about the current government crisis here in Canada. Harper seems to be unable to count seats or remember the rules of a parliamentary govt. Heh.

Yawn, off to dreamland toots, baby will be up soon to eat.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008


My life has never been so frigging nuts until lately. I really don't get it. Busy sure---but now I have no time to read the paper, shower, surf blogs. Hell, I haven't had a pedicure or manicure since Lala was here. And I'm "home" with a nanny. And I live a 3 minute walk from a nail bar.

Monday was a very unhappy day, and Tuesday was Julius' six month birthday, but as I ran madly from one place to another, I realized that it wasn't much of a way to celebrate. We got his shots, he's 20 pounds, and 27.5 inches I think. (Can't find the paper it's written on? Hopefully he's that big.) After speaking to the Doc I decided to delay starting solids for another week or two until we get him used to the helmet. I really don't want him to have any negative feelings about food, and if he hates the helmet, and then associates the two? Ughhh.

Anyway, it won't kill him to wait. Not like kids need solid food at this point anyway. Mostly just extra work for Moms, IMO. It's nowhere near the calorie content of breastmilk or formula so when my older two started it, they actually lost weight at first. Kaz got food allergies, and Mac got gas and indigestion, so hell, delaying a week or two is just fine by me.

Julius clung to me the rest of the day while I exchanged emails with people re. Kaz and Mac's assessments and appointments to deal with their medication, etc. etc.. Dinner, scooping kids to bed, yelling about homework, and chatting to Kaz about some minor incident with a basketball, and then I seem to have collapsed on my bed with my contacts still pasted to my eyeballs. Baby up a few times to eat, drag back to bed.

Woke up Wednesday morning, went into kids rooms with medication and glasses of water. Mac took his, went to get dressed.

I go into Kaz's room and he----completely fucking fell apart with a histrionic temper tantrum that blew the doors off half the house. He started freaking that he wasn't taking the higher dose, even though he has been taking it for a week and a half now, and he liked it so far. (Note: this is the first time ever, that he has refused to take his medication. Ever.) Apparently, the basketball from the day before, had hit him in the face, and he blamed the medication for making him so focused that he missed the ball. He figures that from now on, if he ever takes that dose of medication again, he will be injured, "just like with the basketball."

And if you can figure out that fucked up logic, I'll give you a gold star, because to this moment, I think it's stupid. Random events happen. Too much focus that means you can't focus? Wha? And if he had been that injured by a ball, I'd have gotten a call from the school, or an email, so was it really that bad?

I tried to tell him it was dumb luck, just a coincidence, highly unlikely to ever happen again. He however, had his mind set on it, and was crying, and yelling, and blowing snot out his nose, and running all over the house, screaming at me. The baby finally woke up, and I had to juggle him, and try to keep him calm while Mr. Puberty/OverSensitive hid in the corner of the bathroom snuffling and sobbing bitterly about his mother and how she JUST DIDN'T UNDERSTAND HIM!!!!

You know three year olds with tantrums make you want to rip your hair out? Wait until the little bastards turn twelve, and are as tall as you. You will seriously consider boarding school.

Mr.Cotta finally stepped in and prevented me from committing homicide or saying anything like, "You are grounded for life and Christmas is cancelled!" (I like to stick to what I say when I say it, but that would suck to enforce.) He made him take his medication, told him we don't debate that in the morning, but can talk about it later, and took him to school, and promised to pick him up so I wouldn't have to see his sulky little face. I was so emotionally wrung out after that, it took me hours to really calm down.

You see, Kaz picked today of all days, Julius' final helmet fitting day, to freak out. You know, the helmet for baby flat head, aka positional plagiocephaly, I spent almost the entire day at the hospital, getting the helmet, holding the baby while he screamed, waiting for the helmet to be cut and fitted, and sawed, and sanded. Learning how to put it on him and take it off, clean it and prep the baby's me, today of all days, was not the day for Kaz to go into puberty.

In the end, Julius got his helmet, and it fits nicely, and he isn't screaming when it's on. Mind you, we can't put it on him fast. It's a slow process over 3-7 days to avoid giving him blisters on his head. First, a few hours at a time while he's awake, then longer, then while he naps, then after a few days, while he sleeps at night. Eventually, we do 18 hours a day, maybe 20.


I have to go now and sleep before tomorrow's insane day starts. Fuck I'm tired.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Dunking in water

Some of you may remember that my husband baptized Julius in the NICU while I was still passed out cold getting stitched. And although technically it still 'takes' the same as if a priest does it, I like things done nice and officially. Or at least I like to have witnessed it after all the pain and agony to get the little bugger.

Well, yesterday we poured water on his head, and made him cry, just like good Catholics should. Priest and congregation all watched and witnessed. (Only bummer, they wrote my maiden/adoptive name instead of my married name on the baptismal certificate, bizarre considering I've never gone by it as long as they've known me, and am registered with the parish in my married name. WTF is it with people not calling me by the name I've decided to call myself? Anyway, they will fix it, and send us a new one.)

Then we had a huge party at the house, catered and bartended. We've always done this stuff ourselves, cooking and serving drinks and running around included, but this was easier what with 3 kids etc. That was the excellent part of the week.

Sunday we lazed around, made the kids do twenty minutes of homework, and then played Monopoly. I won! I never win! Kaz was a little upset when I forced him into bankruptcy, but he had landed on a property I owned and owed me major rent. Then he had refused to take the deal I offered him, which involved him giving me some of his properties and permanent immunity/free rent on Boardwalk and Park Place, which he would still own, with hotels. He could have kept his cash and lived to play another day, but he told me he'd rather die than give his mother his hard earned real estate, so the die was cast.

Yes, we take Monopoly seriously in this house.

Today was not so good. Today was the day that we met with the school regarding Kaz and what kind of work he can expect to get at his new school. Can they move him up a few grades, and give him more challenging work? Can they give him some help with creative writing? Help him stay organized?

Short answer--No.

In direct opposition of what the psychologist wrote, the school is dismissing the words gifted, because they figure all children at the school are bright. Not from what I have seen, maybe some are better than B students, but its pretty much average as students go. They also figure that their curriculum is very enriched as it is. I'm not sure how they figure that when it's just the same old crappy Ontario public school curriculum, unlike our previous private school, which was academic boot camp on steroids. But boy did this school official latch onto any and all learning issues she could find. She spent an hour and a half hacking away at my kid and everything she could find in the report. Any little thing she could latch onto that was negative was the sole focus of her recommendations. If he wants extra help, he'll have to go to her--a non-starter when she has nothing positive like more interesting work to offer. And because the Doc wrote the word gifted on page 2 instead page 6, she figured it wasn't part of the diagnosis, even though it SAYS IT IN THE REPORT. I had to insist to get her to agree that the word on page 2 spelled "G-I-F-T-E-D" actually was worthy of discussion. She actually said,"Well, this is a much better report than your old one because this one focuses on your sons many problems. The old one just talked about his abilities."

WTF? Neither report said that at all! Project much?

Seriously, as time passes, I am more and more convinced that she must have been smoking something before we came in.

We hadn't given her the version of the report that discussed ADHD. I had gotten a bad feeling from her, a whiff of prejudice, so I thought it prudent to just give her the edited version. Reality is that all ADHD issues/symptoms disappear in Kaz when he takes medication. (Same is true for most ADDers.) So as along as he takes long-acting medication, there is no need for the school to ever know. And considering the fight it appears I have on my hands, I am sooo glad I never trusted her. God knows what kind of crap she would have subjected him too. As it is, she kept asking and hinting and implying all sorts of things that were not written in the friggin' report.

I haven't given up completely. The psychologist is willing to speak to her on the phone and go to bat for us and do whatever he can to convince them that Kaz needs them to follow his recommendations. He was pretty mad when I told him the story, so I know that I have at least one ally.

Anyway, it all makes me cry. I can't believe the psychologist was right. He said that for any child who is different in any way, gifted, or LD, or amazingly talented or physically disabled, or musical, or geeky or whatever----high school will a test of endurance, a hellish experience of mediocrity and conformity to be survived until the longed for day when university can begin.

I thought that maybe things had changed. I guess not.


In case you were wondering, no I don't recommend this school to anyone. The things I haven't written on this blog about this school would fill another entire blog. Seriously. And we can't transfer out. Ever. My poor sweet husband is so utterly totally devoted to the idea that his son will go this school, that he would never agree to change schools. Even if it is the absolute wrong fit for his actual son and not his projected fantasy child, he won't budge.

Remind anyone of the summer camp debacle?

Friday, November 21, 2008

After the last post

Just a little message to the new political readers I seem to have picked up lately.

This is not solely a political blog like Liblogs and other aggregators and like many personal bloggers I do not just look at things from an objective point of view. So, when I post about a policy issue that the government needs to fix, it's not because I'm searching for something to say and found a news story, it's because in my own life, I have encountered a particular situation and perhaps have been dealing with it publicly or privately possibly for months. Even if I don't link to precise proof in a post, it doesn't matter, because I'm simply reporting what I as Jane average citizen have witnessed and my reaction to it. If you don't believe what I type, then google your own damn fingers away and find links, or fuck off. Real life is not a university essay, complete with credits and footnotes and bibliographies, and leaving comments asking for proof is high school. This is the real world, complete with dead babies, and live kids, and vaginas, and hot flashes, and discrimination and ridiculous encounters with government and business and neighbours and messy family situations.

So to the commenter, "Fact checker", I left you a comment afterwards with the links you so desperately desired. I assume that you will still doubt me. Your comment wasn't the thing that pissed me off, by they way, it was your name. Oh well, guess who doesn't give a flying fuck about what you think?

As to the subject at hand, the issue still remains and it needs to be said, that if Passport Canada really cared about protecting children from kidnapping and other custodial disputes, then they would require ALL children to present long form birth certificates, and then print those names in the passport of the child. That way a happily married dad could not simply sneakily pack up the kids and flee on a plane with those normal passports to say, the Middle East, and refuse to return the kids. As it is, he could just forge a letter from the "supposed" mom saying he has permission to go and without proof of who the mom is, they would just let the kids go. Poor mom comes home from work, and voila, too late.

No, this is about treating certain children like lower class citizens. If you disagree and wish to be an anonymous tithead, feel free to go back to LibLogs or the Blogging Tories and have fun there. They tolerate that shit. I do not.

Ok, done with that for today. Next.

My Doc called with my hormone levels from yesterdays blood test. Sigh....

FSH 19
LH 11
E2 683
Progesterone 2

I had a sort of AF a few days back. Not much. So this might be early in a cycle. Or not. I have been taking some estrace here and there to help with the hot flashes, but not much else. Debating lower doses of DHEA to help my hormones work nice, without making any eggies. I want to feel normal, but never ever ever ever ever ever get pregnant again. That delivery scared the shit out of me. I'm terrified of dying from another abruption, one that might not get caught in time. And of course, guess who doesn't feel like getting a vasectomy?


So looking at those numbers, no wonder I feel menopausal. Sooo, I'm going to try to take some progesterone with the estrogen and we scheduled an ultrasound to check on my fibroid. Hopefully it shrank after the c-section, but since it was all done so fast, no one noted it on the surgical report. Also, during surgery no one could find my ovaries. Apparently, they are missing. Should I send out an APB?

Seriously, I love advice from fellow infertiles. Any thoughts on what might be happening?

Is it the fibroid? The breastfeeding? The ovarian failure returning?

Where do you think my ovaries are? On vacation?

I bet they got a passport no problem.

Thursday, November 20, 2008


I'm a bit down right now. My hormones seem to be a bit off. I don't know if it's my thyroid again, or my estrogen but I'm dragging my rear I tell ya.

It could also be the lack of sunshine. Or the overwhelming sense of anxiety I feel today.

Last Saturday we went out to dinner with a very nice couple we like, but they started to bicker over something minor at one point, and my husband and I jollied them out of it, but now, I haven't spoken to her at all this week, and I'm beginning to wonder if something went wrong? Everyone seemed happy?

Monday Julius got measured for his helmet. It was unpleasant to say the least.
Nothing like draping a baby in wet slimy plaster to induce screaming in him.
Hell, nothing like presenting mommy with a bill for $1500 to induce screaming in her.
(Yes, this is considered cosmetic, and therefore not covered by public health insurance. Because children with funny looking bent heads will never be bullied on the playground....eyeroll....issue #873456137 on my list of shit to fix in government....)

Tuesday I finally got the paperwork in for my passports and the childrens' passports. With absolutely no fucking help at all from my husband, who had promised me that HE WOULD HELP. Grrrrr. Anyway, I spent the entire time in the Immigration building convinced that I would be stopped by the guards and given a *special* government cavity search. Mostly because every single time I have ever been in a government building Very Bad Things have happened to me. (I was shaking, polite, and whispering the entire time, hard to believe, but true, I don't rant every second of the day.)

At one point they insisted that I need to have my adoptive name on my passport, except of course for that whole "legal" name change to another name. Ummm, HELLO, I changed it!?! I swear, if it comes back wrong, I'm going to change my last name to "Passport Canada sucks donkey balls" and then get THAT on my passport. That'll show em, right?

Ok, maybe not.

Actually, I'm more concerned right now about Julius' photo. There was a teeny little wrinkle in the background blanket behind him which may screw the photo. His expression was perfect, and blank, and fit all the regs. Yes, I got a baby to behave perfectly and pose nice, no drugs involved. But apparently that is not good enough. Teeny tiny babies must BEHAVE dammit. Here's hoping the wrinkle in space passes scrutiny.

Poor Kaz, though has the worst end of the stick. He alone will be required to carry his long form birth certificate at all times, or his passport will be invalid. The other children, will not have to do that. The reason, as I've discussed, before, is that we were not married when Kaz was born. We got married afterwards. The rules say that all children born to unmarried parents, aka bastards, must carry proof of parentage, because the department believes they are at higher risk of parental kidnapping than children born in wedlock. There is no statistical proof of this, by the way. Lots of parents get divorced and have custody issues, none of which the department can ever discover unless an opposing lawyer notifies them. Basically, they treat common law couples like criminals in waiting, and married couples like they are always perfect and innocent.

This leads to the bizarreness that says that my husband and I are quite likely to kidnap and transport across the border our oldest son, but fuck the other ones, who cares about those little buggers, right? We'll just dump them in a ditch, correct? case you are wondering, I asked, and they will be placing a note on Kaz's passport that denotes that he is different from the other children and must carry a long form birth certificate, along with notarized letters attesting that we "share" custody.

We don't have to do that for the other children.

Even though Kaz can speak and discuss and argue points as perfectly as an adult can. He stays in the house by himself. He has a cellphone. He can go on the subway by himself. He has his own bank account and manages his own money. If a cop or a customs officer asked him if he was with the right person, he'd answer properly.

Even though Mac is pretty naive at eight, not old enough to stay alone even for five minutes, and Julius is small enough for someone to pick up and carry away---no one will ever ask who their parents are or if they are at risk for being kidnapped.

None of it matters, because their slutty mother wasn't married before she gave birth to the first kid. Sigh....well at least I'm in good company. heh

I pick up the passports on December 2nd. Supposedly. We'll see.

Final bit o anxiety....I made the mistake of trusting someone I've known for years in the meat world with my add diagnosis. I came out and it was a dumb mistake, now they won't speak to me. Won't return emails or phone calls. I'm no longer a person to them. Back in the closet for me. Just praying this person won't out me now.

Scuse me, I need to go be scared of my own shadow now....

Friday, November 14, 2008

Mother of the Year

Julius is teething like mad this evening, quite inconsolable. I rock him and shush him and swaddle him for a long long time.

He is very tired but can't sleep and I'm in his room nursing him for what seems like forever.

Finally his body goes limp and he dreams. I gently lay him in the crib and step back.

Directly onto my glass of wine.

My baby nursery smells like a cheap boozecan.


Wednesday, November 12, 2008

I don't want to do anything

I have paperwork and organizing and emailing and a zillion other things to do, and frankly I'd rather not do any of it.

Is it bad that I just want to curl up and pretend the universe isn't doing anything, and it doesn't matter if I ever get my calendar and contacts up to date?

And I'm behind on blogs too, because I just can't keep up with NaBloMoPo reading, never mind commenting, and I haven't even started in on Christmas preparation. I am annoyed at how my blog looks and I'd love to do a makeover and update my blog list and what have you, but that would be risky and require concentration and I'm just plain out of that. (Even if I hired someone to do it, they'd likely want me to tell them what to do, and I have NO creative ideas right now, none.) My husband wants me to get some things done around the house, like get the dining room chairs repaired, but that requires an entire day long separation from the baby or schlepping him around to fabric stores, plus he wants me to go buy a new stove, but he doesn't want to pick it out. Which means I will likely buy the wrong one. And I am having more passport trouble, and I can't find a decent vacation place for Christmas for five, everything is for four. Unless we skip school and go in February or January. Crap....

I think I'm also in a bit of a bad mood because lately, I've been taking some risks and telling people what I think, gently and politely phrased, but still, being honest, and it's not always a good idea. I think the world appreciates liars better.

Mostly, it's the hot flashes. My estrogen wasn't supposed to drop this quickly while I was still breastfeeding exclusively, and yet, here I am, sweaty and hot and having temperature issues and cranky and irritated. I had some estrogen and started taking it again, but then I ran out and now I can't see my GP til next week to get a new scrip. (It's not exactly an emergency in their books...I get it, but still, crap!) Ovarian failure sucks, and not just on the pregnancy front.

Plus, the baby is up teething, or something....he just doesn't want to sleep. I can handle him getting up once at night, but 5-6 times is killing me. I don't know if his room is too cold, or the Grobag is letting his arms flap in his face. He broke out of his swaddle blanket a few weeks ago and I switched him over to the Grobag, but other than making an extra large swaddle blanket with industrial strength velcro, I have no idea what to do. He's nineteen pounds and strong as an ox, but he can't quite roll over both ways all alone, so I doubt anything will work that I buy. (He can roll over from front to back, but not quite back to front. Almost.)

Okay, I have to go do some stuff for the baptism party we are planning for him. The party I have NO motivation to plan for, but have to do since it's coming up.

I just feel like crap.

Monday, November 10, 2008

This could be hilarious, or not

I have had an anxiety ridden week, and today didn't help. I spent the morning trying to get the final reports for the kid's schools. (For that much freakin' money, you'd think typos would be verboten, no? Guess not.) My nanny called in sick at the last minute and Julius is teething and cranky and tired. Plus, I was still recovering from my overindulgence Saturday night at a friends' cocktail party, which is a hell of a story actually.

I had only had a glass or twoish to drink and was gossiping and laughing and enjoying myself until I made the mistake of talking politics with two young obnoxious Liberal types. After that conversation I HAD to get hammered.

Don't get me wrong, I was once a young Liberal, and I certainly had my moments, but honestly, these two were beyond reason.

First they were startled to hear that I knew their former political boss, since they figured I was some nobody mommy, and was good friends with a staffer they worked with, then----they actually had the fucking nerve to start putting down my friends job, acting like she was beneath them! Meanwhile, the friend in question is a hell of a lot more senior than them, and still employed there. Best part---when they lectured me on the job titles and responsibilities as if I was some moron who'd never stepped inside Queen's Park.

Such class. Amazing she's unemployed, eh?

It got better. I won't say which exact Leadership campaign they were with, but they were with either the Micheal Ignatieff campaign or the Bob Rae campaign. You guess. It will be difficult, you see both sides are once again pursuing a scorched earth policy in their desperation to win. The top guys themselves profess to be friends and are willing to vote for each other if the other falls off, but who's kidding who. Based on what I'm witnessing---these guys forgot to inform their devoted followers.

"Oh you can't vote for so and so, he's a [ insert hack hack hack, vicious dig, nasty rumour, shitty comment, mean-spirited name-calling ]."

As I told those two incredulous teenage louts, if you want my vote, you have to give me a reason to vote for your candidate. I will burn my ballot before I vote for someone who only hacks the other guy. We set up an entire leadership process based on everyone having to get along, because you want the other candidates second ballot support. Being nasty about your opponents is the surest way to lose with this process, which by the way, is why they lost last time.

So once again, Iggy and Bob are going to screw themselves. Sigh---I am so sick of hearing about how they each deserve to win just because:

a. they have highbrow parents and grandparents and brothers and pedigrees (this one drives me round the bend. I just have this visceral reaction, and I start yelling, "You aren't better than me you fuckers") Not a logical reaction, but the one I can't get rid of. It likely stems from the whole bastard unmarried parents raised in poverty thing, but it could just be that I'm not an imperalist.)

b. they were supposed to win last time. (WTF? I missed the secret voting koolaid, sorry.)

c. if they had won leadership last time, then we would have won the election. (HAH, double HAH, the Tories had $30 million dollars to blow on ads and to hire the most vicious Republican campaign consultants money can buy, and honey, for $30 mill, those guys can make you think your own grandmother is a serial killer. It will happen to everyone who runs. Except Jesus. By-the-by, did I tell you the rumour that Mary wasn't really a virgin? New ad: Alleged Terrorist and insurrectionist Jesus Hussein Christ seen pallin' around with slutty teen. There are Youtube videos! P0rn!)

d. They "look like" Prime Ministers. (Umm, I think Obama may be rewriting that rule dudes.)

Anyway, I can actually forget all this and move on, if any of the leadership candidates, Bob or Iggy, or whomever runs, can tell me why I should vote for them in the future. Like, screw the past, what have you done for me lately?

Like are any of them willing to pull an Obama and put forth a bill on Stillbirth Research and data gathering? Considering we have some of the poorest statistics gathering on maternal-fetal health in the world it might be reasonable to say--count them. We count cancer tumours and bacteria through public health. We track them like mad. But pregnancy loss? Oh no, must keep head in sand. Barack Obama, in the middle of running for President, sponsored that bill in the Senate. He isn't afraid of deadbaby mamas.

So maybe this time, when I pitch each and every one of the candidates on infertility and pregnancy care and maternal infant fetal health, they could stop and think and respond a little. Instead of running away freaking out, "Ahhhhh, dead baby lady, ahhhhhhhh" I mean, it's not infectious.

Anyway, this should be an interesting ride. Convention is in May, in Vancouver. At minimum, I'm going to get to meet some of my fave bloggers. I'll keep you all updated about the reactions I get to my pitches.

I can see it now, "Hi, I'm Aurelia, and if you want my vote, we have to talk about vaginas, and I'm sorry to say, not in the fun way." Yep, they'll be lining up to see me, hehe.

Thursday, November 06, 2008

nope, not me

I'm not blogging about the US election, since every last personal blogger I read has already written about it. For once, the shoe is on the other foot, and I am secretly full of glee about it. See, I know that every time I blog about politics, you all roll your eyes and wonder, "What the hell is she talking about now?" and "Not again, can't she just talk about her vagina like the rest of us do?"

So about my vagina....

No vajayjays here. Move along now.

*Chuckle at own joke*

Got that out of my system, now can I just say that this helmet business is no fun? My darling babies' ears are uneven and his head slants forward slightly and there is a dent in the back. I know because many measurements and pictures were taken, and then a very nice Orthotics person at Sick Kids explained to my incredulous husband that it was a moderate dent, (as opposed to mild or severe) but definitely there and that Julius would look like this for life if we didn't do it, and that he would never properly fit bicycle helmets or hockey helmets without extra padding and fitting, and that yes it was cosmetic, but it is so noticeable that it would not be covered up by hair.

Now picture me and the nanny sitting in the corner looking at each other in horror because we can't believe that could happen to OUR Julius, and we can't believe the grilling that Mr.Cotta is giving to the guy, like somehow Ortho's in it for the profit and is running around sticking helmets on perfectly good heads just to make a quick buck. Gah.....not that I want a helmet either, but once the guy confirmed that the aggressive head positioning we were engaged in was doing nothing, *weeps* I decided to just say do it. And in the end, so did Mr.C.

So what if we have to spend the next 6 months hidden indoors praying that no one ever looks funny at us. Or points their fingers at us. Or laughs at us. Or makes my mother bear instincts come out. Cause I'm bad like that. I'm the woman with the tire iron in her purse who goes nuclear if someone looks mean at her kid. Sigh....not cool. *Must control self*

Oh, and about my last posts---after much researching, and talking to a few people IRL I have discovered that when the word "gifted" comes up many many many people begin to act like assholes and apparently the advice I'm supposed to follow is to never talk about it IRL, but instead only on firewalled passworded forums so that random trolls do not call me a grasping/boasting/stage/managing/faker/elitist/pushy mother. (Yes, some people actually say that mean shit!)

But since I'm already the adoptee who talks not so nicely about adoption, and the infertile who talks about vaginas, and the grieving mama who talks about dead babies, and the pro-choice woman who aborted a wanted & loved but dying child, and the crazy hyper chick with ADD who gladly takes speed and tells the world that ritalin rocks and trolls everywhere haven't kicked my ass off the net just yet---oh fuck it, I may as well talk about this here too.

Specially since my real life friends are having funny reactions, and God do I need to vent.

One lady--lovely kind, encouraging.

Next one--helpful, kind of vague, then started telling me how that's the new "in" thing, and was this a new trend? Is that why I "did it?" I'm like--"Did what? Huh?"

Another---jealous beyond description and so desperate to compare numbers against her own kid and herself, that she started to breathe funny. Then starts to tell me how she knows EVERYTHING about gifted kids and everyone in her family is gifted and they are all experts and I must do it all HER way and this is the perfect school, not the one we are in. Froth is forming at the corners of her mouth....I back slowly away.....

An education professional---tells me I should give up on the entire system and homeschool. Commence eyerolling. I would suck at that. I know me well enough to know that for sure!

For me, it's sort of like I thought my kid was a duck, a nice little duck, and then one day I take him to a Doctor and he turns out to be a completely different animal like an octopus, but everyone around me is saying, hey great, he's like a swan! But he isn't a swan, he's an octopus.

Meanwhile, I have no books and no training on how to raise an octopus.

Like that list of things I did that are not PC to talk about---I mostly wrote that because I wanted you all to laugh, and to know that I'm not the crazy pushy mom, and no one has to be. My kids do some sports at school, but not rep hockey or competitive swimming or anything extensive like that. They go to camp in the summer, they go to church occasionally. They eat sort of crap and sort of good. They've never done Kumon or anything like that. They go to a private school, but it's nothing fancy, they have good academics, but it's not a crazy homework place. My kids just sort of came out like this, and damned if I know how. My only enforced rule with them is that the most important thing is to be kind to others. (Ok, and no wrestling near the china cabinet.)

And really, of all the things that mystify me about this situation, it's the world's refusal to believe that the universe makes some people different, different in ways we don't understand completely, but still real, still standing here in front of me. Some of us are mentally ill, and some of us are calm and even as still waters. Isn't what matters most, what people do in the world with their very different brains?

Cause some of us have bent heads and some of us have round ones.

And some Presidents are white and some Presidents are black, but what really matters in the end is if they are kind to others, right?


Sunday, November 02, 2008

Still chewing this over

About Kaz being severely gifted....still weirded out. I thought that the psychologist sort of made this word up, but no, apparently it's a real thing. Once again Dr.Google is being most helpful. As are all of you. (Thank you thank you thank you----I love my friends in the computer!) I think I'm just not sure what the hell I'm supposed to do, and a lot of the information from Google I've found is American. Mostly because if there is information in Ontario, it's not loads. (Yes, I did find the link Lori mentioned, one bright lite!)

Why would we do anything about it? Well, so far I'm reading that there is a lot of evidence that kids like this can end up with serious socio-emotional problems if they are not challenged and encouraged the right way. (Question still to be answered: What is the right way?) For example, lots of them are so scared of sticking out of the crowd, they hide their gifts and pretend to be average just to fit in. Others become bored as hell and get in trouble. Many become perfectionists and get so anxious about their academic performance they become paralyzed and end up not even getting an education.

I went to the Ontario Ministry of Education website, and found sweet dick all. Apparently there are a lot of resources for the other end of the spectrum and lots for anyone who is average range of intelligence and has various LD, but almost zero for a kid who could do an entire credit of math in one day, instead of the minimum mandated 110 hours. Even if the psychologist, and we as his parents, and he himself, and the teachers and the principal all agree, it's hideously difficult to do. Apparently things are a little rigid that way....

We're not making any decisions yet, but I'm a little disgruntled to discover that some options are less easy than others. Then again, why should anything be easy?

Good things about this diagnosis:

I no longer feel guilty about the forceps at birth, the meconium, the untreated reflux, the time I dropped him, the time my husband dropped him, the times I didn't run fast enough to get him when he cried, the times I couldn't pump enough breastmilk for cereal or babysitting and he had to have some formula, the times he had diaper rash because I didn't change his diaper often enough, the eczema he had that I had forgot to rub cream on, the time he fell down the flight of stairs, the home daycare I left him in, the casual neighbourhood babysitters I left him with before that, the really great daycare centre I left him in that was still DAYCARE aka Teh root of all evil, the times when I was a stay at home mom who didn't know what the hell I was doing, the excessively lengthy amount of children's and adult television he watched, the insane amount of time he spent in the car commuting, the playdates I neglected to set up, the piano practice he had to do while Mac screamed at the top of his lungs, the playground visits we didn't do as much as the neighbours did, the times I worked outside the home, the times I stayed at home, the wine I drank, the germs I gave him, the genes I gave him, the McDonald's/pizza/transfat-ridden/allergy-infested fast food insta meals I fed him, the ritalin/concerta/adderall aka Teh second root of all evil that I gave him, the time he spent playing computer games, video games, gameboy games, and of course, making him go through all of our fertility and babyloss adventures when he was old enough to know what was going on.

And yes, I'm kind of making it sound funny/weird, but really, these are all things I have felt guilty about. Sort of why I always tell all of you to stop feeling guilty when you blog about this stuff.

Sigh....all that crap, all that stress, and somehow in spite of the fact that he's the kid we made all the mistakes on, he's got game.

Thank God, because Julius is going to see the helmet people about his bent head Monday morning and I'm so nervous I feel sick. But maybe a flathead won't matter either?