tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11291256012097463882024-03-13T19:30:48.584-07:00Balancing the BucketUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-37511740552654946882012-06-13T21:46:00.001-07:002012-06-14T19:12:51.752-07:00Excuses, ExcusesLately, little man has been rather consistent with his creative excuses. I thought I'd share some of his more popular because they are just a small glimpse into how awesome that boy is:<br />
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<li>"I can't know how"</li>
<li>"I'm <u>not</u> allowed to. We are <i>rivals</i>!"</li>
<li>"I can't eat apples. Apples are from Satan. That's what the Bible says." (ref: Eve & the first sin)</li>
<li>"But, I'm <i>decorating</i>!!!" (as he's lining up his toys in the living room)</li>
<li>"But, I'm <i>organizing</i>!!!" (as he's refusing to put his dishes in the sink, or put anything where it would typically go...)</li>
<li>"I'm going to die because you don't feed me!" (says Caydon after his second dinner)</li>
<li>"You're friends with Satan because you won't let me have X or do Z."</li>
<li>"Mommy, we are supposed to share. You aren't being a good friend right now because you won't share OUR phone with me!"</li>
<li>"Umm. That's ok!" (as in, "I don't want to" when I tell him to do something)</li>
<li>"But, I'm <i>so nice</i>. I'm letting you see my toys!" (as he leaves toys in my room)</li>
<li>"Let's give it a little scootch so you can look at my toys." (as he reorganizes my furniture around his toys)</li>
<li>"But, <b>God</b> told me to!"
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<li>"I don't see it, but I <u>know</u> there is invisible hair in the bathtub. So, I need another new water..." (he actually has moments where he completely freaks down because he'll find a hair in the water. Gotta love SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder))</li>
<li>"But, I made it just for you! That was your special surprise!" (the justification for stacking up all of his toys on the kitchen table and not wanting to clear it for dinner)</li>
<li>"It's my collection" (the line of toys that goes throughout the entire house... clearly not interested in moving it)</li>
<li>"But, I was good <i>this morning</i>! So now it's <u>mine</u>!"</li>
<li>When he wants me to buy something. Me: "Caydon, do you have money for X?" Him: "But, <i>I </i>don't have money. <i>Maybe</i>, it's <u>free</u>!"</li>
<li>"Mommy, I need a doggy, and a brother, and a sister, and a <b>daddy</b> to do that!" (his way of talking back and finding an excuse for disobedience)</li>
<li>"But, I <i>have to </i>go potty in your bathroom. It saves us money."</li>
<li>"Muh--ommm! I am an <i>omnivore</i>! That means I only eat meat! So, I can't eat the broccoli or the strawberries because it's against my rules!"</li>
<li>"I will die for Jesus. And someone will kidnap me. And cook me. And eat me. Because you don't like my collection!! All by myself!! IN THE DARK! <i>So</i>, do you like my collection? Or <i>NOT?</i>"</li>
<li>"You're always bad" (after I make him do something)</li>
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Little Man, crazy hair day @ VBS :)</div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-79925640707593727032012-06-11T15:14:00.002-07:002012-06-11T15:14:50.429-07:00MudRoom to Office RevealPhew! Two blog posts in one day... just goes to show how busy we have been lately! With the help of my little man who loves to decorate but hates to clean (just like his mommy!), I was able to finish my mudroom to office transformation. Half of the room is wall to wall boxes... <strike>all</strike> most of my teaching stuff! I unpacked a little bit (which you'll see... I organized ALL of the gazillion papers I had...) and repacked the rest. It was a tiring process, for sure! The wall of boxes will also transform to an organized stash of foster parenting supplies so that I can easily access the goods. So when I get a 6 month old in the middle of the night, I will have clothes, diapers, bottles, food supplies, and a few toys ready to help me out. I'm very excited to start that stash! :)<br />
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I wish I had a "before," but just picture a room with an unheard of amount of boxes stacked on eachother. I never had a chance to unpack all of my craft room and photography supplies, and then stacked all of my teaching stuff <i>on top</i> of that mess. Good times!!<br />
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This was most the Kate Spade inspired stash that I bought to go with it. I am on a HUGE budget (Dave Ramsey style, mixed with single mom of a boy with autism, teacher budget, and foster parent-to-be. hah!):<br />
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Here is the room when you walk in:</div>
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Wall of boxes, concealed by that beautiful Ikea curtain. I think I lucked out.. normally, I hate Ikea fabrics! Found that rug at Ikea on clearance. I'd like to go bigger, but it works for now. That apple green chair is also Ikea, and that desk is from my childhood (aka FREE!).</div>
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On the desk:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCxgHNjLt4HCQnKSfVgnnSng3OkbEAT78e8ozb30R9J9pxBJChS8HZCrVIOWLhDjF5O26rpfwKsAe-NxJwhsu1gBvp24rJEYsrHN3bQ3uH9tggC7PA2US9zLJjV5EZtIl7xOioFVaK_-X/s1600/photo+(12).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCxgHNjLt4HCQnKSfVgnnSng3OkbEAT78e8ozb30R9J9pxBJChS8HZCrVIOWLhDjF5O26rpfwKsAe-NxJwhsu1gBvp24rJEYsrHN3bQ3uH9tggC7PA2US9zLJjV5EZtIl7xOioFVaK_-X/s640/photo+(12).JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrfPJpjh5Bq9S37soOlrPoUegALgBKcCZm2fjoylhLwy4PfCCjHvaj-H9TeBjzQoVEv6rqwCDnDApYE_Jmoy2Tlk9xfRl1g1L8iOR-g7G7Os1rZ2i-NoKZSAtnIz6o58oCUY566BUlccK/s1600/photo+(11).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrfPJpjh5Bq9S37soOlrPoUegALgBKcCZm2fjoylhLwy4PfCCjHvaj-H9TeBjzQoVEv6rqwCDnDApYE_Jmoy2Tlk9xfRl1g1L8iOR-g7G7Os1rZ2i-NoKZSAtnIz6o58oCUY566BUlccK/s640/photo+(11).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Needs more color... but I love the clear stuff! I would like to add something fun ontop of the corkboard.</div>
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New Ikea bookshelf:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fdd4pfkudn9JqHnEOpxFajY8M-rYmaqD2gWL7FMqCHORx6RhQu5_xtmSRbyqt5JRLiXF-dwvX7G405OSw1x4TEa88uHdGGopv7OIxyuvmRQl_cT1PApwQS-6YG5aV_-Ewos45R0Oc_0P/s1600/photo+(14).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fdd4pfkudn9JqHnEOpxFajY8M-rYmaqD2gWL7FMqCHORx6RhQu5_xtmSRbyqt5JRLiXF-dwvX7G405OSw1x4TEa88uHdGGopv7OIxyuvmRQl_cT1PApwQS-6YG5aV_-Ewos45R0Oc_0P/s640/photo+(14).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8QAiJKar9bCOWiAUlF26yGGuJ4ZEqoIaNAAV7KxhhGabe7rSAYtjkBujR90m2SZ5pgPsO3lvWkHFQFBx1eCK9qAw82ctlEeFWS9QqPYQY85WQfUkjz08t-3pse7YZg0l3rwp4iWzAMekW/s1600/photo+(10).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8QAiJKar9bCOWiAUlF26yGGuJ4ZEqoIaNAAV7KxhhGabe7rSAYtjkBujR90m2SZ5pgPsO3lvWkHFQFBx1eCK9qAw82ctlEeFWS9QqPYQY85WQfUkjz08t-3pse7YZg0l3rwp4iWzAMekW/s400/photo+(10).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Childhood pic :)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l1EPibapgaF7cN2Xv_JsZqSpW4_A0gVk5Q5mgVe4XpNTN9dgcXlyvRXnkCywtUs9E4744oXTOqqwTg_RGibw42-ehTtwOtA2UhI3Zu0emqSarqyoh-ngd73NekiRv1xUZA4SkOxtbgzj/s1600/photo+(16).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9l1EPibapgaF7cN2Xv_JsZqSpW4_A0gVk5Q5mgVe4XpNTN9dgcXlyvRXnkCywtUs9E4744oXTOqqwTg_RGibw42-ehTtwOtA2UhI3Zu0emqSarqyoh-ngd73NekiRv1xUZA4SkOxtbgzj/s640/photo+(16).JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Gotta love Ikea Shelves. Sorted paper, painting supplies, etc.</div>
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On top of the desk:</div>
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All of my papers organized! I still need to make a few labels...</div>
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Speech therapy cards, Linguistics books, tools, mail, CDs for photography (yay for finally finding those!), etc.</div>
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I clearly have a few more things I'd like to do, but for now.. it works! I'm happy to finally be done with the major part of that project and move on to the rest of my to-do list...</div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-67644621191605535702012-06-11T12:05:00.004-07:002012-06-11T12:12:53.219-07:00A Different Choice: Part OneAs a young single mom, I have been through quite a bit of choices and have consequently experienced a large realm of trials and blessings. I made the choice to raise a child alone, without the option of adoption or abortion (the latter of which I hardly considered... just not my style). I made the choice to not go after child support and to raise Caydon with my own yearning for stability. I have had sleepless days, and days where diapers and food were a struggle. I've spent weeks in the hospital, gone through the stress of not knowing what is wrong with my child, and have been through several diagnoses. I tell you this not to ask for pitty, but to tell you how blessed we are now. I have graduated from college and have found myself in a career that is admirable, secure, and great for our two person family. I have proudly hit the first step in Dave Ramsey's Total Money Makeover (where you get a decent amount of emergency money saved up). I have made a house turn into a home. I have guided my child through those life changing diagnoses and helped him turn them around. We have been blessed in so many ways; it's nothing less than a miracle.<br />
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Which is what leads us to our next chapter in our life.</div>
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Father to the fatherless, defender of widows — this is God, whose dwelling is holy.</div>
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Psalms 68:5-6</div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">This was one of many Bible verses that helped us through our darkest moments. God has fathered, provided, defended, healed, forgiven, loved... Caydon and I in every corner of our life. He has made our empty, fatherless house turn into a home that He dwells in. One where His presence fills any gaps and turns around fatherless kids statistics such as how they are:</span></div>
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4.6 times more likely to commit suicide,</div>
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<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;">6.6 times to become teenaged mothers (if they are girls, of course),</li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;">24.3 times more likely to run away,</li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;">15.3 times more likely to have behavioral disorders,</li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;">6.3 times more likely to be in a state-operated institutions,</li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;">10.8 times more likely to commit rape,</li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;">6.6 times more likely to drop out of school,</li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 5px; text-align: center;">15.3 times more likely to end up in prison while a teenager.</li>
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<span style="color: #555555; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Source-<a href="http://fathersforlife.org/divorce/chldrndiv.htm" target="_blank"> Fathers for Life</a></span></div>
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With knowledge of these statistics, I used to seek a father figure for Caydon rather consistently. I will not lie that I almost married because of what I felt were Caydon's needs. However, I have found that those guys were still not a perfect father and that marrying them wouldn't fill gaps. ONLY God is able to fill gaps. Does this mean that I don't ever want to get married? Does this mean I don't want Caydon to ever have a male to refer to as his father? Saying I don't want these things would be a lie, but God has filled our gaps so well that we are content with our circumstances and are able to be patient with His timing. </div>
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I've been praying a lot about it, and I honestly feel that God wants me to focus on the youth of our generation via Caydon, teaching, volunteering in the children's ministry at church, and by foster parenting. </div>
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And anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf is welcoming me.</div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I truly feel that God has blessed my life so much because of my need to be able to help those around me. I hope I'm communicating this effectively and that I'm not trying to say that our life is perfect or snobby by any means. We are far from that. Yet, we have a roof over our head, a kitchen full of food, a car that works, a steady income, and a whole lot of love in our hearts. Considering where others who wear the shoes we have worn are, it feels so merciless to not help them out. There are kids that have never been tucked into bed at night, never been read a story to, never had a full meal, and never heard the simple phrase "I love you." I honestly feel that it is everyone who has been blessed with the above's job to help those who are less fortunate out. Obviously, that is a brave and seemingly impossible statement, but I am confident that it is one that our world needs to hear. I also should state that I don't believe that this love should be mandatory, expected, or government issued.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> I think it should be given </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">from our heart </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">with the genuine interest of showing others love. </span><br />
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Learn to do good. Seek justice. Help the oppressed. Defend the cause of orphans. Fight for the rights of widows.</div>
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Isaiah 1:17</div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">I should take the time to say "thank you" to those of you who have helped me, or both of us, out in our times of need. From putting a roof over our head, buying us a meal, visiting us in the hospital, providing Caydon with shoes, diapers, a warm jacket, a car seat, or babysitting Caydon so that I could go to school or work... the list goes on. It's because of the people that I have been blessed by that I choose to pass on this blessing. One child at a time (and ideally more, if that option becomes available to Caydon and I), we are going to be putting roofs over a child's head, providing meals and medical care, clothing, diapering, tucking in, and loving. I believe this will be a simultaneous blessing for the families we help, myself, and Caydon. </span></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Please keep us in your prayers as we embark back </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;">into this process. </span></i></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>I am planning on doing a Q&A Part Two continuation of this post, so please be sure to ask whatever question you have and stay tuned. :)</i></span></div>
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</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-54496455168378240732012-06-03T17:29:00.000-07:002012-06-03T17:34:34.600-07:00May DumpPhew! What a crazy busy month... I am excited to say that I have made it through with [[most]] of my sanity. I honestly think a lot of the surviving is due to the fact that I have made it a purpose to ignore the to-do list that is coming out of my ears and take a moment to be in His word. It's true that God is a great comforter, provider, and source of strength (just to name a few!) <br />
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Alas, here is May summed up in a picture dump:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-KUpE2lzDCb6CkwgwOMd7mlfy95Cf3p1bXW5KchSNTEi0fK_jSjrYqnu7PdT2asUUNh8EAcHozOGC_RWSv0g5AVdL8LWkyVlY5xCeXDdr7S8ntxT7bbedfdpl1e_UgvlVs3p1M9A_51i/s1600/542930_3951359505219_1919525966_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-KUpE2lzDCb6CkwgwOMd7mlfy95Cf3p1bXW5KchSNTEi0fK_jSjrYqnu7PdT2asUUNh8EAcHozOGC_RWSv0g5AVdL8LWkyVlY5xCeXDdr7S8ntxT7bbedfdpl1e_UgvlVs3p1M9A_51i/s400/542930_3951359505219_1919525966_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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First up, I was able to hang out with one of my favorite girls from my childhood. (Shout out!!) </div>
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She is a few years older than me (though way more exciting... I am def the boring old mom now lol) but she was ALWAYS one of those girls that I looked up to and that kind of took me under her wing. I guess I should say "look" as in present tense, too, because her amazingness hasn't changed since the last time I saw her 8 years ago. Here's to hoping she comes into this desert more frequently!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrLXvqVhGoPfN_UUYWwAoc5rDZrzVm-p8_0K-EQPtdlVCXjgbbfymHXnMIxcnqa86_-w0elAcFIbLoWJfemydWoA6GZjwY3rXlQ5me1MCUqnHBSVp6Kvfq1fFXMUe8bgW7IBRnx0F25kU/s1600/535179_4040967025351_1317079606_3738871_763894950_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrLXvqVhGoPfN_UUYWwAoc5rDZrzVm-p8_0K-EQPtdlVCXjgbbfymHXnMIxcnqa86_-w0elAcFIbLoWJfemydWoA6GZjwY3rXlQ5me1MCUqnHBSVp6Kvfq1fFXMUe8bgW7IBRnx0F25kU/s400/535179_4040967025351_1317079606_3738871_763894950_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Caydon's packing for grandma. I took the AEPA test to finish my certification for teaching elementary, and he stayed with my mom. </div>
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Dealing with this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrW1IQ5OQIvPfTTikxjprpixIGiGNVU15isQzSQF7lqkGcHNcTsu2yx_orMOLQjBuluGqBKCv4uq09KTP4OG6d_0iaYD2IhECcScG2vRDRBN5trTPFjZDic1HBuvKIxlBplD_RuXDbm6VE/s1600/photo+%25284%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrW1IQ5OQIvPfTTikxjprpixIGiGNVU15isQzSQF7lqkGcHNcTsu2yx_orMOLQjBuluGqBKCv4uq09KTP4OG6d_0iaYD2IhECcScG2vRDRBN5trTPFjZDic1HBuvKIxlBplD_RuXDbm6VE/s320/photo+%25284%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anyone know why a 5 year old would have chronic cradle cRap?! We can't get rid of it... we use dandruff shampoo instead of No More Tears, you name it. So weird!! HOWEVER, it <i>totally</i> beats lice! I'll take it!!</div>
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Growing Up:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJNk8HsE7qPxxIb7XmKZY4KKdkWBYcIl57wYYraziSyzNSKuuZTJGdxvApPdZqZWEVDsKEcoGSujCur3z8h0NlOdZMO2hyphenhypheniRiNOUBuMVzxGg8ybFcMcu6t3Aw_mzvJY1Q67HziL6Th-C2/s1600/547623_4035005756323_1317079606_3736030_525778244_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJNk8HsE7qPxxIb7XmKZY4KKdkWBYcIl57wYYraziSyzNSKuuZTJGdxvApPdZqZWEVDsKEcoGSujCur3z8h0NlOdZMO2hyphenhypheniRiNOUBuMVzxGg8ybFcMcu6t3Aw_mzvJY1Q67HziL6Th-C2/s320/547623_4035005756323_1317079606_3736030_525778244_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">My beautiful little man graduated from preschool!!</span></div>
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Furthermore, I am beginning to think that he "graduated" from his IEP. I can't see him being in the projected self-contained autism classroom... he's progressing like crazy and doing fairly well socially. I've also been battling an IEP that to umm.. remain professional... isn't one that I agree with. </div>
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Mother's Day:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggR-_qPdoqJ9tRJGebac9QO6JTejOLeKxM0WFX2sColtxAve6SGr8iXPtzStnALGqNSSmlSLifE3rBAKthy_02l2LqaUx2eMSivFSxdvEav4A1sGcgW0mucKpm7IUIST19C3hczWMOri9Y/s1600/558559_4006408961421_1317079606_3722264_1025490051_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggR-_qPdoqJ9tRJGebac9QO6JTejOLeKxM0WFX2sColtxAve6SGr8iXPtzStnALGqNSSmlSLifE3rBAKthy_02l2LqaUx2eMSivFSxdvEav4A1sGcgW0mucKpm7IUIST19C3hczWMOri9Y/s320/558559_4006408961421_1317079606_3722264_1025490051_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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4 generations of love! Maternal side <3</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYXIEhi5QVf19P0mq1FsZCETah7-oYkGvs3n6UpTCCVXFk1z8pDTvFxqO-VUHU4dDVS-KSUiGEIBUvLxB0h62S3Fy0KRVhbfsf-dwdO0HC51DkIphk4Xd7eCO7K459OxTC3KiFR2etgC03/s1600/581745_4006433002022_250062251_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYXIEhi5QVf19P0mq1FsZCETah7-oYkGvs3n6UpTCCVXFk1z8pDTvFxqO-VUHU4dDVS-KSUiGEIBUvLxB0h62S3Fy0KRVhbfsf-dwdO0HC51DkIphk4Xd7eCO7K459OxTC3KiFR2etgC03/s320/581745_4006433002022_250062251_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The boy who calls me mom.... my biggest blessing!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEnPnE7Oi9VjBowmR-SPcIkJuWiC445O7fhJKL8g2ou1VyTzqI8SNUV_XkoJAd8dKmr4CW-aqwt_2qoiw8l3mQjTfFOBLK8amXwFf-rqftl1Hia2HKqHkvbs9IuAnomKdexU31QGZuMMk/s1600/579504_4003999061175_386730554_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEnPnE7Oi9VjBowmR-SPcIkJuWiC445O7fhJKL8g2ou1VyTzqI8SNUV_XkoJAd8dKmr4CW-aqwt_2qoiw8l3mQjTfFOBLK8amXwFf-rqftl1Hia2HKqHkvbs9IuAnomKdexU31QGZuMMk/s400/579504_4003999061175_386730554_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Sweet present little man made for me! Adorbs!!</div>
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Bible Study Playdate Saturdays.. which lead into lunch and play!</div>
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His buddies! They are as amazing as their parents... I am so blessed to call them all close friends! (Their mommy is also the lady who baptized me a few months back!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhX5QQwhEK0qDtxPao7JyjyhSx40eH_XgikvGO0lB11t0CiYG_i3o9YKUOmm8PDm9oPNJ0RHz8as_0hFoxYw-zAfwtHWgI1wAPpNBKeubPmJWHye2IwH2iosfS3f-E1_2CwQOaNNjtkez/s1600/576932_4086375080524_526203760_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhX5QQwhEK0qDtxPao7JyjyhSx40eH_XgikvGO0lB11t0CiYG_i3o9YKUOmm8PDm9oPNJ0RHz8as_0hFoxYw-zAfwtHWgI1wAPpNBKeubPmJWHye2IwH2iosfS3f-E1_2CwQOaNNjtkez/s320/576932_4086375080524_526203760_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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His first time going on the train around the mall. He's always wanted to, but never been able. :)</div>
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<3</div>
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Baseball Games:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8Zs5EE2SKievDEKyCEVeZxbQyfm62cO1kX4S4EyczJ8riCP_T9FXApeHDFFCSjCinkiUEIXtH9ccFNGfCkfsszMA5lVhepKnglcT303US_VPxahCI49zKvitJHDuhlgrgBS0XMVvcyS5/s1600/561275_3967357705164_832336083_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8Zs5EE2SKievDEKyCEVeZxbQyfm62cO1kX4S4EyczJ8riCP_T9FXApeHDFFCSjCinkiUEIXtH9ccFNGfCkfsszMA5lVhepKnglcT303US_VPxahCI49zKvitJHDuhlgrgBS0XMVvcyS5/s320/561275_3967357705164_832336083_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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"Train Ride" over... aka the lightrail. With my hs best friend!</div>
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Being Mom:</div>
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Teaching about Avengers</div>
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Playing Ninja</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Optometrist Appointment</span></div>
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Caydon <b>doesn't</b> need glasses like he was projected to! His eyes have actually improved!! This was great news for him... he hates doctors and anything touching his face! It was also great news for me because:</div>
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My eyes <b>didn't</b> improve... they actually got worse. Joy! I did, however, buy my first pair of glasses since 6th grade. I clearly love the glasses look on me... ;)</div>
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Wedding Weekends:</div>
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I let her borrow my sunglasses. I can be a sweet daughter... sometimes. See?:</div>
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The family was in town for a wedding weekend. My cousin got married... don't you love how family weddings seem to turn into a weekend rather than just a night? Can't complain the family visits, though!</div>
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Photobooth Fun!</div>
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Professional Development:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xytCxb_-49ZTK8GdkxsgDo1YYYadbBCK9BAH_72YrCUZzH7hI3OFfgzIy91hPMxPcH0PtGcAAGG799KSeoaDsbxmItZ4Uhq9y7uJ2WaDmHU8e94XuWtqanpn-rxMHK4rq9xEFgNY8-mr/s1600/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xytCxb_-49ZTK8GdkxsgDo1YYYadbBCK9BAH_72YrCUZzH7hI3OFfgzIy91hPMxPcH0PtGcAAGG799KSeoaDsbxmItZ4Uhq9y7uJ2WaDmHU8e94XuWtqanpn-rxMHK4rq9xEFgNY8-mr/s400/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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National LETRS program: Education Neuroscience re: Reading Aquisition. LOVE it.. but it totally consumes the brain!</div>
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Lately, anyway...</div>
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My last day of my first year of teaching!!!! Did you catch that?!? Yeah... awesome!!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJDViAoxvQXBhmql8PUSPYkG8BKFRaAOqiJi2BoFHqsGgsMyVOd0ZcPy55hcGIvXYKPnEJXst0QFAcyDgwOLSKEUD8WBEQYnlpApkOsl8E57oLi_DRN9dKYEB9HK2-uVqjYn5X662Yx2f/s1600/574820_4073410116408_808205047_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJDViAoxvQXBhmql8PUSPYkG8BKFRaAOqiJi2BoFHqsGgsMyVOd0ZcPy55hcGIvXYKPnEJXst0QFAcyDgwOLSKEUD8WBEQYnlpApkOsl8E57oLi_DRN9dKYEB9HK2-uVqjYn5X662Yx2f/s320/574820_4073410116408_808205047_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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From my amazing mentor teacher, who is also now a close friend! <3</div>
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Going away parties with my classes. I was honest with my students and told them that my chance of returning was slim... I don't want them to think I chose to "abandon" them or something. I did keep it professional, though, and explained this it is how it works being at the bottom of the totem pole. Nothing anyone can do! (Though a family did decide to write me a letter of recommendation.. Such a sweet offer!) As for the job, I am still awaiting a contract, and am praying continuously for patience & a door to open. I am still trying to finish cleaning out my classroom. I have one more car trip left... my poor house exploded with my teaching supplies! I also did interview somewhere, so please keep my in your prayers as I await the news and continue praying for more interviews. Faith is hard, but so worth it!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxeZh4ijRCh16Nd521BKiZ3DYqQeCgr4fuzsGz0i18OMcB5pbA_jlfpVawE6CILknGgb1POrUkzmHQGFDu2cjQ3V1MPPNd0-2Z_sjBytdb_2bGOH4XxU_UpBzBiXyCK2jP2uIGa5EAJfX/s1600/7943_4114321939178_1088220204_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxeZh4ijRCh16Nd521BKiZ3DYqQeCgr4fuzsGz0i18OMcB5pbA_jlfpVawE6CILknGgb1POrUkzmHQGFDu2cjQ3V1MPPNd0-2Z_sjBytdb_2bGOH4XxU_UpBzBiXyCK2jP2uIGa5EAJfX/s320/7943_4114321939178_1088220204_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Relaxing. </div>
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<i>Just kidding!!! </i></div>
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My to-do list still entails:</div>
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-tons of professional development classes (8-5 Mon-Fri this coming week!)</div>
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-burning/delivering a photography cd</div>
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-finding a job!!</div>
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-restarting the foster parenting process.. Cay's progress is allowing this to be an option finally!</div>
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-finish cleaning out my classroom</div>
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-organizing the classroom explosion in our home</div>
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-hopefully a second date! ;)</div>
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-figuring out Cay's kinder placement</div>
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-giving Cay much needed attention from his mommy </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-90829840517084659502012-05-04T17:24:00.001-07:002012-05-04T17:24:48.439-07:00This Little Light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love-me a happy update! I hope you do, too, because I have quite a bit to share!On an I'm-totally-giddy-because-Cay's-future-looks-awesome note, I hope this doesn't come off like I'm bragging. Most of this is something that we've been waiting on... for a lonnnng time... and I wasn't sure if the day would come. There is a hope, ya'll!<br />
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For awesomeness, My facebook status totally read this a few days ago:
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">My </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">education just paid for itself! I got Cay exactly what I feel he needs academically. It was kind of a fight... SPICE with high inclusion support... They didn't want inclusion for him, but i fought the LRE card effectively. So he gets gen ed as often as he can, Adapted PE, pragmatics goal w the 6 others I wanted... We are set for Kinder! Now I just have to get over the fact that my baby isn't a baby anymore! :) </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Yes! You read that right!! Caydon is no longer in COPE (the Emotionally Disabled self-contained class... why he was in there to begin with being that he is diagnosed with autism is beyond me..) and is now going to be in SPICE (the Autism self-contained class...) It was a lot of stress to figure this out. Stress like the: make a chart and line up my options stress.</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> I'm very excited about this because I wanted him to have autism support as needed, but still have a lot of access to the general education curriculum (phonics!!) and peer models. It doesn't seem like there is a perfect fit for these kiddos with high functioning autism, but I'm glad my boy is able to get the second best option...</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">I also got this email the other day:</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Wahooo! Participating AND answering questions AND dancing/singing. All of which he normally wouldn't do. Progress, people! There was once upon a time that this boy almost ended up not going to church because he just couldn't nack it. Thankfully, with God's help and lots of patience from his teachers, he's doing well, as you can see. This mommy is proud!!</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">And finally, in the light of Caydon and how bright his future is... we FINALLY got accepted into DDD. We are now in the intake process, which means that hopefully by this summer, he will be receiving respite, habilitation, and everything else he should have gotten 3 years ago. My, what a process. It's nice to see the light at the end of <i>that </i>tunnel!</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-33039153474439025642012-04-28T20:42:00.002-07:002012-04-28T20:47:58.199-07:00Just a little...Oh, my sweet boy. The witty things you do and say, simply because you are you. <br />
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Yesterday was my mom's birthday. We celebrated by going to her favorite restaurant, Joe's BBQ (amazing!), and then to her house for the party. There was a line mix-up and, summed up, we ended up not waiting for my grandparents/aunt&uncle to get food since our food would be super cold. ((Rude.. I know... but it wasn't just a simple wait. If that makes sense...))<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqcZ0dIaBsq3C9gXNxBPfk3jrwZqeIcYMzBq3Qom7dt4-Hk1Y07T0rbDrHCYtwiTeZJfjYCTPofX0_igQKJAp9g_agRIb0MoSDaZ3O-iGgftPklkoTZywmyGgvX9V0ypRq4C_4dg2SMLm/s1600/561273_3870463122860_1317079606_3669005_365187664_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqcZ0dIaBsq3C9gXNxBPfk3jrwZqeIcYMzBq3Qom7dt4-Hk1Y07T0rbDrHCYtwiTeZJfjYCTPofX0_igQKJAp9g_agRIb0MoSDaZ3O-iGgftPklkoTZywmyGgvX9V0ypRq4C_4dg2SMLm/s400/561273_3870463122860_1317079606_3669005_365187664_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(BTW, those aviators that my grandpa is rockin' is the pair he wore in the Vietnam War as a pilot... sweet, right!?)</span></div>
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Well, Caydon was VERY concerned because my grandpa (his great) was still waiting on his food and was sitting at the table with us. He offered (sharing! wahoo!) some of his mac & cheese, applesauce... finally, his pickles. Anyone who knows Caydon, knows one of his primary food groups would be pickles. The boy LOVES pickles. And who wouldn't, right!? Caydon doesn't understand differences like this...<br />
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The conversation went down like so:</div>
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Cay- "You don't like pickles? Caydon loves pickles!" </div>
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Grandpa- "Just a little"</div>
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Cay- "Oh, ok!"</div>
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Of course... Cay proceeded to tear off the littlest piece he could for his "Double-G". Such a sweet boy he is. Literal, yes. Autistic, yes. Loving, without a doubt. Not only did I chuckle at his unique offer, I <i>beamed</i> because I really can't put into words how proud he makes me.</div>
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The rest of the night was swell. The cake I baked wasn't burnt (!) and actually tasted yummy, the dress I bought my mom fit and she liked it... in addition to the picture of Cay (but that was a given for her to like), and instead of doing dishes, we used paper plates from Target that I've had my eye on and needed an excuse to use... so I surprised my parents by buying them and we were able to enjoy each other's company in a game of Apples to Apples instead of doing dishes. Score! </div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-63364989602831528732012-04-25T18:30:00.000-07:002012-04-26T22:24:36.969-07:00Not Again...As I mentioned in an earlier post, my position at the school I've been teaching at is no longer. At first, I wasn't quite sure what the deal was. This caused me a TON of stress, naturally, because I took it quite personally. I am, by far, my worst critic. I was heartbroken because I felt like I had failed at my job, and, thus, failed my students. Well, I've come to find out that it wasn't a personal thing... It also wasn't technically a RIF (at least, I don't think it was). It has actually been happening to most new teachers that I work or went to school with. While I feel bad for the other teachers, I have to admit that I selfishly have a sigh of relief, as well. I definitely don't want others to go through this, but knowing that I'm not alone reassures me that I couldn't have done anything differently.<br />
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So.. the scoop. I was hired as an Exclusionary (sp?) Teacher. Basically, since I wasn't highly qualified in English but was taking a position teaching it, I was only a one year contracted teacher. I believe this would also have been the case since I am a first year. (Or, so it seems with a lot of the other teachers I've heard this happening to.) Since there are a few junior highs closing in the district, the teachers from the closing schools have dibbs on the jobs around the district. Then the teachers that are RIFd and elect to transfer within the district get placed. Finally, it's our turn as Exclusionary Teachers. Summed up, the chance of me going back to the school I've been at (being that the junior high teachers will probably jump on the chance to teach high school if they are qualified) is slim to none. Hence, my applying everywhere. Again. I thought I just went through this? Since I graduated last spring, I have moved homes 3 times, and am going on my 2nd time with my classrooms.<br />
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Saying that I'm sad about my classroom going from this:</div>
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to this:</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
is quite the understatement.<br />
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I wish I could show off my amazing students, but can't. You'll just have to take my word for it that these kids rock my socks and are out of this world amazing.<br />
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Is utterly depressing. As are the questions from my students. I've been told by a fellow teacher that the expectation is that I turn the key in on the last day of school. Soo... I've been packing up slowly but surely whenever I have <strike>down time</strike> find a moment. (What teacher.... let alone sped teacher... has down time?!) <br />
<br />
I have yet to tell my students, but I'm not sure how much I can keep them assuming that I am transferring classrooms. They have the assumption that I am trading rooms with another teacher because mine is itty-bitty and the maxed out class sizes barely fit. I actually wouldn't have a place to sit another student should I get more in certain hours. Crazy! Anyways, I've been planning on telling them how it is a logistics thing (so they don't feel I'm abandoning them, they don't get mad at the district, and it's all still truthful) the last week. I really don't want them to start giving up in the classes I teach or for them to get distracted by it/walk all over it. Time will tell when it happens. Please be praying for my students and I in this transition! I'm really worried about the students I've developed a close rapport with and that come to me for mentoring throughout the day. I'm also worried about where I'll end up, but I know God provides.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Let's keep a firm grip on the promises that keep us going. He always keeps His word. -Hebrews 10:23</span>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-69215194405951789072012-04-23T21:49:00.000-07:002012-04-26T21:50:03.795-07:00Loving Like Jesus DidI read a post that I thought was so inspiring, I just had to share it with my readers. It was about a <a href="http://www.practikel.com/2012/01/27/christian-group-shows-up-to-chicago-gay-pride-holding-apologetic-signs/" target="_blank">Christian group who showed up to a Gay Pride Parade and Apologized. </a> I'm telling you, it's beautiful stuff. In a world where religion seems to forget Jesus' love and purpose, it was refreshing. Refreshing enough to share.<br />
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So let's be honest. I'm not perfect. Are you? Even though my past and present isn't all roses, I still struggle to not judge other's thorns. As I try hard to continue strengthening my faith, I seem to separate myself from my friends who aren't encouraging. Not even on purpose... but because this is how I am inclined as a human. It's almost as if I put myself on a different level, even though I don't want to be. I know I'm not the only Christian who does this. I know Jesus didn't hang out with the righteous and the religious; He hung out with the prostitutes, and the tax collectors. He died for the sinner. What a reality check in a world where people spit hateful words at the homosexual or the young girl having an abortion. God says it's not our place to judge but to love. It's our job to love others and to show God's love by doing so. <a href="http://naytinalbert.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Nathan</a>, the group's leader, is a great reminder as to how Christians are called to embrace others and show what unconditional love is.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-46091397464543501132012-04-15T23:18:00.007-07:002012-04-15T23:39:52.864-07:00Confessions Over Coffee<div style="text-align: center;">`1Since this is an end of the weekend post, and I absolutely loved my frequently-lurk-worthy blog writer, <a href="http://andersonfamilycrew.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Emily @ The Anderson Family Crew</a>'s post about what a conversation over coffee would be like with her... </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I just couldn't help but copy. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Soo...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0MSXATheH02wxi5cfbAC6jK2gotpewRwYqPA_7W39nS1UqGQ7vqg4ybIA1Ntrb_AQWEOEBG2dAVwKlTpYUPkv3v9a1MhrHNnDKXHRt-9PXYUYHzRoIkbObdXfIXjDaMTsOOAMw6cE8Fo/s1600/402507_3226592226490_1317079606_3385524_346774555_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0MSXATheH02wxi5cfbAC6jK2gotpewRwYqPA_7W39nS1UqGQ7vqg4ybIA1Ntrb_AQWEOEBG2dAVwKlTpYUPkv3v9a1MhrHNnDKXHRt-9PXYUYHzRoIkbObdXfIXjDaMTsOOAMw6cE8Fo/s400/402507_3226592226490_1317079606_3385524_346774555_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">if i were to have you over for a cup of coffee,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">i'd probably try to convince you</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">to drink some chai instead.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">i am on a chai kick. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">with nonfat milk. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">but...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">then again,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">i hardly make it to the store for milk lately...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">so maybe,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">i'll try to convince you to drink coffee.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">black coffee.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">you can guarantee that I don't have creamer right now. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">sorrrry. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">i'm a horrible housewife right now.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">btw,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">don't look at my floor.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">or my tables. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">or my walls.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">or our laundry pile.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">ok? </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">maybe i'm <strike>kidding about the walls</strike> being too honest. :)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">better yet, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">let's get down to business</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">and crack open a bottle of 2 buck chuck.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">it's 5 o'clock somewhere,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">right?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">OR you can have some of my not so delish brita water.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">the juice is on reserve for Cay's meds.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">sorry.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">i did warn you i'm not a very good housewife lately.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">bwahhahha. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm not even a wife. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">booooo ya. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">no expectations to live up to. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">score.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziXuQkYFtHtXHVjXZsLMx_LFl0o4g1Z8deKatJRZw9jTbs-ta6Rqss-GqcyD8eUxQKT_-9pgDmX6bkULUMr3ihpJVj-1Z36OXAXWEavgfADyhuijsfVP9ATVxcW24d0cBYTP0ehWrC_VE/s1600/423885_3558069553216_1317079606_3522754_378724061_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziXuQkYFtHtXHVjXZsLMx_LFl0o4g1Z8deKatJRZw9jTbs-ta6Rqss-GqcyD8eUxQKT_-9pgDmX6bkULUMr3ihpJVj-1Z36OXAXWEavgfADyhuijsfVP9ATVxcW24d0cBYTP0ehWrC_VE/s320/423885_3558069553216_1317079606_3522754_378724061_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">moving on.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">while we drink our<br />
chai tea,<br />
black coffee,<br />
gross brita water,<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i would tell you...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i <strike>would tell you </strike><i>scratch that. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;">you'd notice.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'm a brunette again.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i couldn't handle my roots </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8njM34fF19TOC2oVHOntm122fAjW2dgzF2pGTAYWKkNyiTB78WxOyutqG4SbBNK7LZcvMUzwOQy5S9z-0AMcVRv5TNiVKdRC8rjLbnGf0XfOXExKxYr03EWMe3546XNBmGz2-t7CcrqQ/s1600/528979_3709139809878_1317079606_3596137_300082435_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8njM34fF19TOC2oVHOntm122fAjW2dgzF2pGTAYWKkNyiTB78WxOyutqG4SbBNK7LZcvMUzwOQy5S9z-0AMcVRv5TNiVKdRC8rjLbnGf0XfOXExKxYr03EWMe3546XNBmGz2-t7CcrqQ/s320/528979_3709139809878_1317079606_3596137_300082435_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i would tell you<br />
that my boy is amazing.</div><div style="text-align: center;">truly.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'd have a momentary brag sesh.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i am so amazed at that boy's strength.</div><div style="text-align: center;">he amazes me every day.</div><div style="text-align: center;">he is learning so much.</div><div style="text-align: center;">and progressing so quickly.</div><div style="text-align: center;">and getting such a personality.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i also finally realized that Caydon's name has a meaning.</div><div style="text-align: center;">it didn't even phase me when i was choosing his name. </div><div style="text-align: center;">(weird!)</div><div style="text-align: center;">i looked it up and it means: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>fighter.</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvDIaqFdWv-WnKsEGD4d7qHJLr8xKZl-Fd2VA9vnU11yuH1QWW76k5GAaz8qIyqrLYB9wTchwfcUGdraAO2Ti-kV3_Jb0YQpJNUC-j-PCLkIkkIDo0iZiA532mkVccg6rB6wcHU2cPWJI/s1600/546461_3734676368276_1317079606_3612557_727426861_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvDIaqFdWv-WnKsEGD4d7qHJLr8xKZl-Fd2VA9vnU11yuH1QWW76k5GAaz8qIyqrLYB9wTchwfcUGdraAO2Ti-kV3_Jb0YQpJNUC-j-PCLkIkkIDo0iZiA532mkVccg6rB6wcHU2cPWJI/s400/546461_3734676368276_1317079606_3612557_727426861_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">yes, that's him being "tough" :)</div><div style="text-align: center;">his name really couldn't be better.</div><div style="text-align: center;">he is such a fireball, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and has overcome so much in his 5 years.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i also think anyone who wants to judge him is nuts.</div><div style="text-align: center;">take him for a day.</div><div style="text-align: center;">experience autism.</div><div style="text-align: center;">experience love. joy. laughter. </div><div style="text-align: center;">experience everything wonderful that boy encompasses.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">i'd tell you that<br />
i really do love my house. </div><div style="text-align: center;">did you notice the pine trees and grass everywhere?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOacZUEMJlnL98PJgUimLC51OCfjTOsLwP9BYVr8VRemAS0T1b4KbtIzHcCioQlXBk5cxZHs7Ofek_jcbqGaSHPpK_yTjYk00t9ieBBSeJ5XOeKSk_Qm0R1Y5jhYiajvcEhLTFVmmRCwDC/s1600/404446_328642920488255_100000276508652_1273139_1133161129_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOacZUEMJlnL98PJgUimLC51OCfjTOsLwP9BYVr8VRemAS0T1b4KbtIzHcCioQlXBk5cxZHs7Ofek_jcbqGaSHPpK_yTjYk00t9ieBBSeJ5XOeKSk_Qm0R1Y5jhYiajvcEhLTFVmmRCwDC/s320/404446_328642920488255_100000276508652_1273139_1133161129_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">want to go see my tree and garden in my back yard?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCBV7vP6r-p3MYOt0ai31MT9NR1LPqrHXAAVwxImEhS6IT0k9bQ1f3qD4T09PhztKT4Xzt1zqtUL7wX8QTRYBNZmlwSu2Hhe2V1yVqZjurOZcWiw6R2XAPzLNcU_n7dewwmaiJqZCvhaZ/s1600/557376_3713595721273_1317079606_3598177_1364356811_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCBV7vP6r-p3MYOt0ai31MT9NR1LPqrHXAAVwxImEhS6IT0k9bQ1f3qD4T09PhztKT4Xzt1zqtUL7wX8QTRYBNZmlwSu2Hhe2V1yVqZjurOZcWiw6R2XAPzLNcU_n7dewwmaiJqZCvhaZ/s320/557376_3713595721273_1317079606_3598177_1364356811_a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">doesn't feel like Phoenix,<br />
does it?</div><div style="text-align: center;">exaaactly.</div><div style="text-align: center;">now you know why i love it so much.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i just wish i owned it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'd tell you that<br />
i'm finally feeling content.</div><div style="text-align: center;">that the patience that i've been praying for is finally here.</div><div style="text-align: center;">that i'm alright<br />
with being a single mom.<br />
even though i pray often</div><div style="text-align: center;">for my future husband.</div><div style="text-align: center;">.. for Cay's future daddy.</div><div style="text-align: center;">... for my future babies.</div><div style="text-align: center;">but i'm at peace </div><div style="text-align: center;">with not having them in our life right now.</div><div style="text-align: center;">it's amazing what crying out to God can do.</div><div style="text-align: center;">besides,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>i'm not really alone in any of this.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'd tell you that i just found out </div><div style="text-align: center;">that i have to look for another teaching job.</div><div style="text-align: center;">and i'm nervous.</div><div style="text-align: center;">terrified, actually.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> i cry anytime i think of </div><div style="text-align: center;">how abandoned my students may feel.</div><div style="text-align: center;">apparently a numbers/budget/first year teacher thing.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>this</i> verse:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">they do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the Lord to care for them.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">-psalm 112:7</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">on repeat.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'd tell you that while i don't have a paying job, </div><div style="text-align: center;">i am being led to taking on<br />
a servants ministry supervisor position.</div><div style="text-align: center;">it's for our church (obviously)</div><div style="text-align: center;">it's a special needs ministry</div><div style="text-align: center;">hellloooo. </div><div style="text-align: center;">no questions if that is my thing or not.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i spent the morning there today </div><div style="text-align: center;">i already fell in love with the kids.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>most</i> have downs.</div><div style="text-align: center;">have i told you how much i adore kids with downs?</div><div style="text-align: center;">so much that i want to adopt a <u>sea</u> of these babies?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>that</b> much.<br />
my future husband better be prepared :)</div><div style="text-align: center;">so, this is my downs fix in the meantime.<br />
God knows my soul.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.healthysoon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Down-Syndrome-Child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.healthysoon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Down-Syndrome-Child.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'd ask you to pray for Caydon.</div><div style="text-align: center;">he's at a rough patch in his life.</div><div style="text-align: center;">he is making soo much progress.</div><div style="text-align: center;">thank you, Jesus.</div><div style="text-align: center;">but he's totally in our reality world.<br />
trying to make sense of it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">today i heard him telling a friend (!) at church</div><div style="text-align: center;">how he doesn't have a daddy</div><div style="text-align: center;">and he doesn't have any brothers or sisters</div><div style="text-align: center;">or a dog</div><div style="text-align: center;">or a big car </div><div style="text-align: center;">(why is a car significant?!)</div><div style="text-align: center;">it broke my heart </div><div style="text-align: center;">to hear his list<br />
of what he doesn't have.</div><div style="text-align: center;">of what he desires to have.</div><div style="text-align: center;">of what he should have.</div><div style="text-align: center;">(besides the car...?)</div><div style="text-align: center;">i also have no idea what to do<br />
about his kinder placement.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strike>high functioning</strike> autism <i>period</i> isn't a walk in the park.</div><div style="text-align: center;">there is no perfect fit<br />
for him to learn.</div><div style="text-align: center;">he doesn't deserve anything less<br />
than perfection.</div><div style="text-align: center;">and i'm fighting like h-e-double toothpicks for him to get it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSMeuJOL3-t1aQjD6kVy4npj5ODDczn4oXeGQ193VHBHauOYX6bSQ-ezbmaH4sgGkKWlcxUfRXlQi9yfjKAlnYiryjo2Uwa3xzfCThP9qjTRRY__Sk_0N7IwmhFWfIpbtpF9840jtKz18/s1600/553833_3736729299598_1317079606_3613115_955098914_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSMeuJOL3-t1aQjD6kVy4npj5ODDczn4oXeGQ193VHBHauOYX6bSQ-ezbmaH4sgGkKWlcxUfRXlQi9yfjKAlnYiryjo2Uwa3xzfCThP9qjTRRY__Sk_0N7IwmhFWfIpbtpF9840jtKz18/s400/553833_3736729299598_1317079606_3613115_955098914_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">and,<br />
finally,<br />
i'd tell you<br />
thank you.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">thank you </div><div style="text-align: center;">for your support.</div><div style="text-align: center;">for being our friend.</div><div style="text-align: center;">even when we're too busy </div><div style="text-align: center;">to be much of one in return.</div><div style="text-align: center;">thank you for believing</div><div style="text-align: center;">for praying</div><div style="text-align: center;">and for taking time to read this.</div><div style="text-align: center;">you have no idea how how much it all means.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-80032440147362854622012-04-04T21:00:00.021-07:002012-04-04T21:40:48.550-07:00Never Once Did I<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div><b>Never Once Did I</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b><span id="goog_2116638815"></span><span id="goog_2116638816"></span></b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir29H6ZkjP6ivr1RZliGp_DwyHGkq3hb7OPzKs9IFlL__e-w6kvPPS0NQ9OtNzNaDPMwmGJHt-3cC7Dw49CWsTjsxT3p6uYZEtOtrABFhvgQFRjuzkHw2Y90MhdbPdUY3dUBXNSf3hFEW8/s1600/34745_1565147451409_1317079606_1563891_4708826_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir29H6ZkjP6ivr1RZliGp_DwyHGkq3hb7OPzKs9IFlL__e-w6kvPPS0NQ9OtNzNaDPMwmGJHt-3cC7Dw49CWsTjsxT3p6uYZEtOtrABFhvgQFRjuzkHw2Y90MhdbPdUY3dUBXNSf3hFEW8/s320/34745_1565147451409_1317079606_1563891_4708826_n.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><br />
Never once did I think I'd face the choice of an abortion.</div><div>Never once did I think single parenthood would take life's place.</div><div>Never once did I think I'd overcome more than one stereotype.</div><div>Never once did I think strength would make me win our race.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Never once did I think I'd struggle to give my child mac and milk.</div><div>Never once did I think instead of vacation we'd have a hospital stay.<br />
Never once did I think medical bills would come before fashion.</div><div>Never once did I think financial struggles would limit our day.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Never once did I think my child's obsessions were a red flag.</div><div>Never once did I think my toddler's delay was a rational fear.<br />
Never once did I think his delays would soon regress.</div><div>Never once did I think an autism diagnosis would reach my ear.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Never once did I think I'd hear "social & emotionally disabled".</div><div>Never once did I think he wouldn't know my smile or my tears.</div><div>Never once did I think his childhood would be therapy, not play.</div><div>Never once did I think his education would differ from his peers.</div><div><br />
<div>Never once did I think I'd know so much about disabilities.<br />
Never once did I think I'd choose a job based off of the giving.</div><div>Never once did I think patience and empathy would be my qualities.</div><div>Never once did I think I would teach special education for a living.</div><br />
</div><div>Never once did I think my kids would be more than 5 years apart.</div><div>Never once did I think it'd be hard to find love for my child <i>and </i>me.</div><div>Never once did I think a requirement is a disability loving heart.</div><div>Never once did I think such a realistic romantic I'd have to be.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Never once did I think God would be my best friend.<br />
Never once did I think I'd cry out for Him so often each day.<br />
Never once did I think I'd wait to hear what He will say,</div><div>Never once did I think I'd crave His promises in every simple way.</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-73542739844833919262012-04-03T21:38:00.005-07:002012-04-03T21:51:16.820-07:00'Twas the Night Before...<b>'Twas the night before an IEP centered meeting (technically, we're reviewing his 12 different assessments to see his current level and start talking about placement,) and this mommy is sweating some major bullets.</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iRs-ByaEtietEZx6prPiYNilpOCFL3IlbQKWVEEXlpu-DUnX6CvxkiUNY8rBaPAoRjqOf0ilUNz743YxQfu8TrNPPcMnl7rW1Ib3XERG-g0ZmHaayz2240wbsEkMmjkZ4hi0PXGfDP9P/s1600/228839224785828818_q1b7xPRX_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6iRs-ByaEtietEZx6prPiYNilpOCFL3IlbQKWVEEXlpu-DUnX6CvxkiUNY8rBaPAoRjqOf0ilUNz743YxQfu8TrNPPcMnl7rW1Ib3XERG-g0ZmHaayz2240wbsEkMmjkZ4hi0PXGfDP9P/s400/228839224785828818_q1b7xPRX_c.jpg" width="341" /></a></div>Why is is that I can handle IEPs like it's no big deal... it <i>IS</i> my job, after all, to go through data, monitor progress, write IEPs, and provide services.. but my own child's meeting gets me <i>every </i>time? I've always been one of those students with really bad test anxiety... and this feels like I'm taking the AEPA (teacher certification in Arizona) all over again, but instead of just pulling out the knowledge, I have to deal with my emotions, too.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow basically pinpoints whether or not our interventions have been enough. They'll tell me whether he is ready to go to a Gen-ed Kinder with, or without, a One-on-One Paraprofessional. A one-on-one is my ideal scenario, but I know that it's a lot harder to come by than it should be. I'll also find out whether or not he has a cognitive impairment (mental retardation) IQ level, or if he has emotional disabilities. OR, I'll find out if he qualifies for the Autism program... but it's most likely not happening, because the district only has one level of the autism program for Kinder. Why, when we just recently found out that the prevalence is 1 in 88 kids now?? Obviously, Caydon's not the only one at his level in our school district.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibrVhs-fX-2Zenu-qXsQaMng1__VOpdlkLsAnnf430q6_YJxN_fuhyphenhyphenlctuz2hmDZDIA3nQnhPmH1q69cvXNY9efeil3Zecg1Wr2r6H87uDPZUKZC76dYoHIS5uW0WhgcCncsD-5C40ExQT/s1600/422565_3382669288319_1317079606_3441930_101722229_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibrVhs-fX-2Zenu-qXsQaMng1__VOpdlkLsAnnf430q6_YJxN_fuhyphenhyphenlctuz2hmDZDIA3nQnhPmH1q69cvXNY9efeil3Zecg1Wr2r6H87uDPZUKZC76dYoHIS5uW0WhgcCncsD-5C40ExQT/s400/422565_3382669288319_1317079606_3441930_101722229_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">His assessments, also with some from his ASU Autism Study (like the urine sample)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>This reminds me of the time that I told Caydon's pediatrician that Caydon's eyes were dilating really weird, and that he started headbanging. We were going to monthly appointments because Caydon's speech regressed and he started stemming in addition to a bunch of other symptoms (possible celiac, and his asthma and allergies were out of control). <i>This</i> was before we had officially entered into the world of autism. Our amazing pediatrician sent us off to a nearby hospital for stat blood work, a stat CT Scan, a stat EEG, and an immediate appointment following with the neurologist to discuss the results.... all of which she arranged in front of me via the phone. Let me tell you, that a scary moment. That's the moment when you lace your fingers together in front of you because you need to hold someone's hand, and if holding your own is the only option you have, you'll take it. Tell me I'm not the only single mom out there who does this in moments I need someone to lean on but don't have that other half, so I find it in myself?? What was even more nerve wrecking was when the neurologist sent us for a stat MRI because they found "concerning grey area" in his brain and "wanted to ensure whether or not it was tumorous" (or whatever his original doctor spiel was. I'm the annoying mom who tells the doctor to lay it out in words I can comprehend). We were literally sleeping on a bench at the hospital for nearly a week. Charming? You tell me...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8NvpsDjhfO50D4LQWf8TQkMooJyfvptv3ZHauR7eUYzcCn7aX609a4tI-bcCgkTWSmQ77CPAVkj0cxkfjQ3lgofUrOqSBBuk0Ybh5GM_GsIvdmsK_SzBtyio6myJf-hD7glxgSuJQrjb3/s1600/38754_1588742921281_1317079606_1636327_3438038_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8NvpsDjhfO50D4LQWf8TQkMooJyfvptv3ZHauR7eUYzcCn7aX609a4tI-bcCgkTWSmQ77CPAVkj0cxkfjQ3lgofUrOqSBBuk0Ybh5GM_GsIvdmsK_SzBtyio6myJf-hD7glxgSuJQrjb3/s400/38754_1588742921281_1317079606_1636327_3438038_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Leaving the hospital after our sudden dose of giving blood vials, so we could grab our stuff and stay up all night for an EEG. We were <i>supposed</i> to go to the zoo that day...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQPSLFh_cU9RzQDYt1JCwAFQ_97FQO8d8Wx5KwwirNP0hIPVa8X_KalIPH5h3_iKAHXai4VlfXLvJy1GJk-RcqU0f_dOKPi2UMpCl90FezHG0vNoBRwHXYNzpQKiBf4tM1Vjj5IX7UvGm/s1600/40626_1590907935405_1317079606_1642399_9460_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQPSLFh_cU9RzQDYt1JCwAFQ_97FQO8d8Wx5KwwirNP0hIPVa8X_KalIPH5h3_iKAHXai4VlfXLvJy1GJk-RcqU0f_dOKPi2UMpCl90FezHG0vNoBRwHXYNzpQKiBf4tM1Vjj5IX7UvGm/s400/40626_1590907935405_1317079606_1642399_9460_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">His first, but not last, EEG</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8DCXE0kvDDNaAGXoQAz7KRDUEI2S9lFv04qhYjXCBslrHkjDfmjBXeBNSEGw6_RPdWoPScHIxDtbgUHuOkBF4aYnfFVbsdEcFp-k1x8sdnYO0LIi7dCz05H2nsxUO4BLgClw9wBk-63q/s1600/40030_1594210097957_1317079606_1650750_7884476_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8DCXE0kvDDNaAGXoQAz7KRDUEI2S9lFv04qhYjXCBslrHkjDfmjBXeBNSEGw6_RPdWoPScHIxDtbgUHuOkBF4aYnfFVbsdEcFp-k1x8sdnYO0LIi7dCz05H2nsxUO4BLgClw9wBk-63q/s400/40030_1594210097957_1317079606_1650750_7884476_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">We looked like bums wandering around the hospital...way cute.</div><br />
<i>Confession time for this teacher</i>. When Caydon's preschool told me at our last meeting that they think he is cognitively impaired, I went into a "don't cry" mode and literally tuned out everything they said to me. I wanted so badly to be strong and not cry... I teach kids with mild mental retardation (cognitive impairments to be PC) so it's not like it's foreign to me... but I literally couldn't acknowledge anything they were saying past this point. All I could think about was leaving and resuming everything at the next meeting, so that I could get alone and have my cry sesh. I mean, really, what kind of teacher does that? I still feel like a hypocrite saying that, but I know that I'm certainly not the only one in the world who is overprotective of their kiddo, and doesn't want to acknowledge the worst, right? Right!?<br />
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Anyways, I need to do more research and prep some more for tomorrow's meeting. I am sweating bullets, and I need to drop it. The anxiety is killlling, though. This would be a good time for some xanax (but I'm not a pill-popper), or a good time for a run. I literally almost went on a run.. but by the time I had my two ponytail holders in, three sports bras because of my fear of more sag on, my feel-like-clouds running shoes, and my running shorts set, little man was passed out on the floor. So anxiety and stress it is for me, tonight.<br />
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<b>Please be sure to say a prayer tonight and tomorrow.</b> I will update once <strike>I know what is going on</strike> I'm recovered from a much needed (either way) happy hour. <b>Please pray I don't break down crying like a heartbroken mom, or show too much excitement like a selfish mom, or tune out in fear like the overwhelmed mom, but that I can remain professional and strong for Cay. Thanks!!</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-66338257774750271992012-04-02T10:24:00.002-07:002012-04-02T10:24:00.447-07:00A Day for Me<div style="text-align: center;">Hi, I'm Caydon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIktaT8eyvgEZkxqv23Pepm8ldYU5Ca2t54JyNCLXmYgXIuDl1OvGa-DqI9JBYFPIoKYbgkg-ql3iHo5nD7XlaP3GaS9TDDVFVGXWm9xXFfsrudZFTCQKuX4_Je9m0K1pscpzEyaLpmfyP/s1600/405032_3655999561405_1317079606_3571495_403451443_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIktaT8eyvgEZkxqv23Pepm8ldYU5Ca2t54JyNCLXmYgXIuDl1OvGa-DqI9JBYFPIoKYbgkg-ql3iHo5nD7XlaP3GaS9TDDVFVGXWm9xXFfsrudZFTCQKuX4_Je9m0K1pscpzEyaLpmfyP/s640/405032_3655999561405_1317079606_3571495_403451443_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Today is World Autism Awareness Day, also known as "<span style="color: blue;">Light It Up Blue</span>" for Autism Speaks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVarQd5Jjv_vaQM5DlHmjurvi0BnYFG1S5mBSaXAYEXmEA9cyUyjEixDPN88IJY8-LQS4xMrnM-pFeq8UxFXCgvDVCjkGu4iotDR7X8kISrCO93H43DvwM0agMFgqwieXDvWyfo8NyNYiJ/s1600/AS_10_LightItUpBlueLogo_Horizontal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVarQd5Jjv_vaQM5DlHmjurvi0BnYFG1S5mBSaXAYEXmEA9cyUyjEixDPN88IJY8-LQS4xMrnM-pFeq8UxFXCgvDVCjkGu4iotDR7X8kISrCO93H43DvwM0agMFgqwieXDvWyfo8NyNYiJ/s640/AS_10_LightItUpBlueLogo_Horizontal.jpg" width="640" /></a>Blue so happens to be my favorite color. Did you know that? Did you know that I'm also obsessed with dinosaurs, Mario Cart, Star Wars, and love making new friends? Maybe you did, and maybe you didn't. Lots of people seem to have a hard time acknowledging that I'm a little boy, just like their kids, or like they were a few decades ago. Just because I<i> have</i> autism, doesn't mean I <i>am</i> autism. Because of this, I'd like to share a few things with you.<br />
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For starters, I love having a routine. I'm very specific as to what I want, and when I want it. Luckily, my mom knows what I expect and when, and can sometimes help me prepare for when things don't go as I plan. Some things, I just need to adjust to. Like naptime. I hate naptime, but I'm not the only 5 year old in the world who despises nap time. So, this is an area that doesn't make me unique. Mom and I thought that maybe you'd like to see what an average day looks like for me, since it is, after all, the biggest day of the year for autism:<br />
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<b>6:15 AM-</b> Mom starts waking me up while in the process of getting herself ready. Yes, I take a long time waking up. I'm kind of like a teenager stuck in a 5 year old's body. Struggle to fall asleep, never want to get up. What can I say? I'm smart and figured it out early.<br />
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<b>6:45 AM-</b> Mom starts making my medicine smoothy. Every morning, I get a 1/2 tablespoon of a vitamin formulated just for kids with autism, and a huge Omega that is bigger than my pinky finger. Mom makes this into a yummy fruit smoothy so it goes down easy.<br />
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<b>6:50 AM-</b> Mom comes in and helps me get ready for school. Part of my autism makes it hard for me to take care of myself. I don't really care how I look, what I wear, or how I smell. I'm perfectly OK wearing my bedtime pullup all day, having dirt all over my body, and having long nails. Actually, I hate getting my hair and nails cut. It freaks me out. So, my norm is usually at the "could use a cut anytime" length. However, mom insists on making me look decent. Whatever. As long as I can wear a shirt with a dinosaur, and that I don't have to wear socks. The strings inside the socks freak me out. Also, the only pairs of shoes I will wear has dinosaurs on them and, of course, no laces. I hate laces or velcro straps. Sometimes I will wear flip flops, but not for very long.<br />
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<b>7:00 AM-</b> We get into the car to leave, which is when mom has to give me the plans for the day. What schools am I going to? What are we doing after school? Who am I seeing today? If it's a different day, mom let's me know earlier than this. She'll have to repeat it a few times before we leave. If it is a normal day, I still want to hear the plans at least once. This is also the time that I start whining about going to school. I don't like it because they used to make me take naps. I recently moved into the integrated preschool since I'm doing really well. I'm still adjusting to the routine change. I really start getting nervous the closer our car gets to school. On a good note, we don't have to go on a freeway on-ramp, which sometimes scares me.<br />
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<b>7:15 AM- </b>I kiss my mom goodbye and get dropped off at daycare. Transitioning from my mom to the day is hard for me, and I used to be kind of mean to the other kids. Now I just tell them that I want alone time. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn't. If they don't leave me alone, I get overwhelmed and often end up in trouble. It's not that I don't want friends; it's just that the transition is hard for me.<br />
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<b>7:30 AM-</b> I get a whole 'nother breakfast, but I have to be social at it. I really like it when we can talk about dinosaurs. If we don't talk about dinosaurs, I'm not interested in talking. What can I say? I know what I like. Besides, I'm still warming up to the day.<br />
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<b>7:45 AM-</b> After breakfast, I play with the dinosaurs that the daycare ladies bought just for me. They noticed that I didn't like the other toys there, and thought this would help me learn to share. Sometimes I do share. Actually, I like playing with other kids and I'm getting pretty good at it. I have a hard time saying more than "hi," "my name is Caydon," "want to play?" and "I want to be alone right now". Beyond that, I need someone to help me. This difficulty is called Pragmatics. Mom is always helping me with this area, and fighting the school district to give me Speech Services to help me in this area. They don't think I need it because I have my sounds right when I try hard. They ignore the fact that, when I get overwhelmed, I mumble and stutter, and I can't maintain a conversation with kids my own age. It's frustrating, and when I get frustrated, I often get into trouble.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoASfk5jo-63lrAHkGh4l9xxFR3tKgRWzgw0ZTPcT9sE6OTRmB7MTUaWkMBaWfzVhH3PfO_W1UVRSsXBs5iVbpImcM288VupurgxhVwV5FrJfzs-v8JM_LUfXw_nLxNaUMz__dCHNWoMxA/s1600/395323_327895813896299_100000276508652_1270534_1893759946_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoASfk5jo-63lrAHkGh4l9xxFR3tKgRWzgw0ZTPcT9sE6OTRmB7MTUaWkMBaWfzVhH3PfO_W1UVRSsXBs5iVbpImcM288VupurgxhVwV5FrJfzs-v8JM_LUfXw_nLxNaUMz__dCHNWoMxA/s400/395323_327895813896299_100000276508652_1270534_1893759946_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<b>11:00-</b> I eat lunch now by myself because I have to get ready for school. I have to take another dose of my nasty autism vitamin, but I'm happy if it's mixed with juice and I can chase it with something. I try to be tough. Mom is pretty sure it's because I remember B12 shots in my butt. No, thank you.<br />
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<b>11:30-</b> My school bus comes to pick me up and drive me to my special preschool. I really like going there, and have a new friend named James. He likes dinosaurs, too. Sometimes, we even make dinosaurs out of legos. My day there consists of integrated speech, physical, and occupational therapy, as well as learning things to get me ready for Kindergarten. They work with me a lot on how to handle situations if they don't go as I planned, just like mom does at home. They also try to help me make friends. My favorite subject is art. I also like writing letters, but I only copy what I see and don't copy what I hear. I've worked on writing my name for a year now, and get it correct most days. I am known to mix it up, which has mom worried about Dyslexia. Did I mention that mom is a special education teacher, and worries too much about me? I did tell you that it's just autism that I have, right? My developmental behavioral pediatrician says I also have ADHD and ODD, but mom says those are things that fall into autism. My neurologist says I have really abnormal brain waves and grey brain areas, but mom says this also falls into the autism category. Mom thinks one diagnosis for me is enough, and is fighting my preschool really hard regarding me not having a cognitive delay. They think I do because I have a hard time learning. Truth is, I am so smart, I'd probably blow you away. Sometimes I'll ramble to mom about the different time periods and types of dinosaurs. I use really big words. I also have an amazing memory, like the time I didn't go to Disneyland for 6 months but remembered the Haunted House, that I only went on once, has a scary hand. Or like the time mom didn't remember the flavor of Trader Joe's squeezers (yogurt sticks) that we had in our freezer at home (we had the red box, I wanted the green because it was strawberry). See? I told you I'm really smart! I just don't find learning certain things exciting. I'm glad mom knows this, and is fighting the school district on it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfZ81XcuzYRFn9LBO7esoZi4628CzW9oGx3dlC5g37MbD1ElIfttW6EjVSQeLkxe_U2V_WHTOEW7zQ9g1r4anNavWAb8L4n5j5Jwyhco_Up2DQX-y98zAFw755pIXa9WWSGx4J-d2E85c/s1600/306988_2500835803033_1317079606_3007261_943220982_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfZ81XcuzYRFn9LBO7esoZi4628CzW9oGx3dlC5g37MbD1ElIfttW6EjVSQeLkxe_U2V_WHTOEW7zQ9g1r4anNavWAb8L4n5j5Jwyhco_Up2DQX-y98zAFw755pIXa9WWSGx4J-d2E85c/s640/306988_2500835803033_1317079606_3007261_943220982_a.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br />
<b>2:00 PM-</b> I ride the bus back to my daycare, where I like to watch TV until mom picks me up. We don't have cable at home (mom says money doesn't grow on trees, but I don't understand what she's talking about. I take things literally, and already knew money doesn't grow on trees. But I do remember her telling me money is made out of paper, and paper comes from trees. So, technically, it DOES come from trees.) so I enjoy watching TV by myself until my mom gets there. Sometimes, I'll have dinosaurs join me. On really good days, I'll play hide and go seek with some of the other kids.<br />
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<b>4:00 PM-</b> Mom gets me from school. We always sing on the way home. I know all of the cool songs and am a really good dancer. We always stop by the mailbox on the way home, and I'll be sure to let mom know if we don't.<br />
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<b>4:30 PM-</b> Mom and I start my homeschooling. We are working on teaching me my letters (actually, I call it learning how to read, because it IS), how to write, and we do music and more occupational therapy. I learn the best through music therapy, and we actually have fun. Mom gives me my joint compressions and uses a clear brush to comb me all over my body. It is really relaxing. I also love to jump, so I have a trampoline. If I had a really hard day, mom will give me ice to chew on. This is by far one of the best ways to help me calm down. Some days, we'll skip music and academics, and go to the grocery store where I work on social skills, or we'll go to my counseling/ABA class. I used to have a really hard time going to grocery stores because it's so busy. There are some really nice ladies at Trader Joe's who know mom and I, and help keep me calm. When I was younger and really struggled, they would stay with me the whole time mom shopped. They also did a lot of research to help mom with me. They even give my mom hugs, but I don't let them touch me because I'm not sure of them. I do, however, let them give me cookies and I get to choose something from the treasure box. Other kids are supposed to find an iguana, but everyone there says I can get a treasure if I make good choices and don't get overwhelmed. I always choose one candy and one toy. I always eat the candy while waiting with my mom. On the days that they run out of treasures, I freak out. Once, I broke a pot on a wall. I didn't mean to, but it was already busy and stressful, and then my routine changed. Mom had to restrain me and give me deep pressure in the parking lot. The girls that worked there loaded up the car for mom so that she could work with me. Mom cried on the way home, and I still don't know why. Mom cries a lot when I melt down, and I don't know why she would do that when I'm the one overstimulated. I also hear her talk a lot to God whenever she cries because of me. She talks to him like He's a friend of hers that is helping her do something hard. I still don't understand it, but it happens every time like clockwork. At least it's something I can expect.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitLp7V73mt1B_K1_2TlsKNuPZZlZ-Oc8cmMYMQ6POtvJABXxX58ediygh7gHakr_VQyWHYaUdyb1u1Asi9Rk45GxzBB3iScy5uROFNxWeIvIN_qpViWF8IWLLaB1ZraimK1naUtE444Z_2/s1600/431268_3201606921873_1317079606_3377181_1996746795_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitLp7V73mt1B_K1_2TlsKNuPZZlZ-Oc8cmMYMQ6POtvJABXxX58ediygh7gHakr_VQyWHYaUdyb1u1Asi9Rk45GxzBB3iScy5uROFNxWeIvIN_qpViWF8IWLLaB1ZraimK1naUtE444Z_2/s400/431268_3201606921873_1317079606_3377181_1996746795_a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<b>5:30 PM-</b> Mom lets me choose whether or not I help her cook dinner, or go outside to play with my dinosaurs. Mom got a house just for me with a backyard, and I love it out there. Sometimes, I'll pick oranges to help mom with dinner. Mom always knows I'm ok because I grunt a lot while I'm playing. It makes me feel better after a long day. It's funny, too, because if I start playing quietly, she always runs out and checks on me right away. I think she likes hearing me.<br />
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<b>6:00 PM- </b>Mom and I eat dinner. I have to, again, take my autism vitamin and Omega. It's so gross! She always tries to talk to me about my day, and sometimes she'll tell me how her day was. Sometimes I can tell she wishes I would ask her questions, but I don't even know what to say. I know she asks my teachers about how my day was because she'll use what she hears to ask questions. "Who did you play dinosaurs with inside?" she'll say. It's like she is trying to see if I can remember, rather than as if she's actually asking a question she doesn't know the answer to. She's funny; she's always looking for ways to get me to talk to her. Most of the time, we just end up talking about dinosaurs. I teach her a lot because I remember everything she reads to me, but she says her brain doesn't work like that.<br />
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<b>6:20 PM- </b>Mom and I start cleaning up the house. We always turn on our music really loudly and have a dance party. My job is to put the dishes in the sink, put my toys away, and vacuum an area. She always starts scrubbing stuff down and doing the dishes. We almost always stop the dance party once I start stemming. I'll either rock, spin in circles (which isn't how I dance unless I'm holding mom's hands), or bonk my head into the wall. Sometimes I'll start biting myself because I need the pressure. This often tells mom that I've had enough chores and music, so she gives me ice to chew on and then we move into quiet time.<br />
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<b>6:45 PM- </b>This is up there on my favorite part of the day. Mom and I either go on a bike ride together, she'll go on a run and I'll ride my bike, or we'll do a workout game on the wii. I think yoga is hilarious!<br />
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<b>7:15 PM-</b> Mom always lets me play Mario Cart while she takes a shower, and then she gives me a bath after. I used to hate taking baths, but now that mom has taught me how to wash my own hair, I'm OK with it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinPaqXeHwEpmTqqhtipqQPs2Tarf0NFDjrBKeINqPllQQYgamtzyrZB5mXpi8tRXZQHLJ9rOj0GXwsJZOGRJ9ZAm5O_eoQ6hmUqmBd3w6BEMpSZ45Ky_BZxV7TrIO7IgrmvG0FVcufkEum/s1600/533360_3618802951513_1317079606_3553079_1405068686_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinPaqXeHwEpmTqqhtipqQPs2Tarf0NFDjrBKeINqPllQQYgamtzyrZB5mXpi8tRXZQHLJ9rOj0GXwsJZOGRJ9ZAm5O_eoQ6hmUqmBd3w6BEMpSZ45Ky_BZxV7TrIO7IgrmvG0FVcufkEum/s400/533360_3618802951513_1317079606_3553079_1405068686_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<b>7:45 PM-</b> Quiet time is when mom gets some of her grading or reading done, and I read books. When I'm bored with books, I play more Mario Cart on the TV. It really depends on how much grading she has to do. On rare occasions, she won't have any more work to do, and she'll be able to sit down and watch a movie with me. I really like this, because we get to cuddle. A lot of kids with autism can't stand cuddling, but I love it. Mom says it's because she lets me sleep in her bed, and because she nursed me for 17 months. I don't know why I love cuddling, but I do. I really love it when mom rubs my back or squeezes my shoulders.<br />
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<b>8:15 PM- </b>We brush my teeth, put me in a pull-up, pray, and read a book to go to bed. I sleep in mom's bed because I have a really hard time at night. I get very scared, have night-terrors, and have a lot more abnormal activity in my brain. I normally finally fall asleep to reading around 10. Sometimes, mom will even fall asleep before me. She tries really hard not to, but I know she's always tired after her day so I don't make her stay up. Besides, I'm bound to wake her up at least a few times throughout the night.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvYjGHsNOIBBarN1BS4nr3AkEc8q7lXb9fR5YdLUWy06YaTJslrxm8aPJivauL1RSKBJwNvz_ASNmwW-yOA89qMNA5bmi-78XT62d8q4n6OZwh4KdP4DhFg_m9IRVUtvdNkkx-UkEkVcG/s1600/428858_3613429697185_1317079606_3550742_373564719_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvYjGHsNOIBBarN1BS4nr3AkEc8q7lXb9fR5YdLUWy06YaTJslrxm8aPJivauL1RSKBJwNvz_ASNmwW-yOA89qMNA5bmi-78XT62d8q4n6OZwh4KdP4DhFg_m9IRVUtvdNkkx-UkEkVcG/s400/428858_3613429697185_1317079606_3550742_373564719_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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So, there you have it. <b>My day.</b> <i>What does your day with, or without, autism look like? </i><br />
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Now, that was kind of long... so mom and I will save what else you may want to learn about me for later this month. April is Autism Awareness month. So stay tuned!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-21591478438249410902012-04-01T12:37:00.000-07:002012-04-02T00:44:26.704-07:00Scary, but TrueCay and I were kind of going through a rough patch. It seemed like ever since I was baptized, Satan was attacking us in every which way. Why is it that being baptized makes us turn into prey for the devil? God warns us that the closer we are to Him, the more Satan will want to pull us away. The key point, though is that we have to let him. As my friend Adrian told me during a much needed mommy break, Satan is like a gnat in comparison to God, unless we let him become more. Such an important thing to remember!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5w9TJHtoq8-jIphnAkhONqmyV9a1TJuzu0lRB8dk4Nlvz3xd6u2n1Nt2QLmKHebAY_1A2dhU4Zb5Xs3n7gNzcvfvtwzq6R6Joxb0skuL9R_yP5G8AxtmJEj_Bvjm6oUyiIJMxnAZXkOw/s1600/544496_3624789661177_1317079606_3556354_1006391939_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5w9TJHtoq8-jIphnAkhONqmyV9a1TJuzu0lRB8dk4Nlvz3xd6u2n1Nt2QLmKHebAY_1A2dhU4Zb5Xs3n7gNzcvfvtwzq6R6Joxb0skuL9R_yP5G8AxtmJEj_Bvjm6oUyiIJMxnAZXkOw/s640/544496_3624789661177_1317079606_3556354_1006391939_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
With this in mind, I have been really blessed by God with the friends, people, and promises through His word that He puts into my life to help me remain a spiritual leader of our 2 person family, even when times get rough. Between Adrian's reminder, Jessica coming home with me to pray for like an hour (longest prayer I think I've ever said... but definitely not the last!), other friends being amazing, and my pastor at church knowing exactly what to say and when to say it... it's nothing short of God giving me a great bear hug. Today we had a sermon on this very issue, that I'd like to share with you. It's a dark, nitty-gritty passage, but it is SO important to recognize and understand.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/39594772?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/39594772">Satan, Demons, and Other Nasty Subjects</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/centralaz">Central Christian</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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Amazing, right!? I adore my church family!<br />
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I'm so thankful that when I cry out to Jesus, He listens to me. I always tell myself that God will either answer a prayer with a "yes, but let's be patient first," "no, because I have better in store for you," or a "let's do it!". I'm so thankful that He hears my cries and sees my battles, and knows exactly what I need.<br />
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Well, there is my short update on God's work in my life. Hopefully this experience of mine can help you realize that crying out to God and asking Him for what you need, now, is something that He hears. I'm so new to this crying out when I'm feeling down ordeal... I used to just keep it in... but knowing that God listens to me regardless is an amazing feeling. Knowing that God is powerful enough to protect Caydon and I from Satan when we are too weak to do it ourselves is just a small reminder of how much our Heavenly Father loves us. I hope you all have a blessed week, and remember that through Christ, all things are possible.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-57837220534497178402012-03-27T00:06:00.000-07:002012-04-02T00:15:23.161-07:00Dinosaur (aka Kale) Chips<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These little babies are quite the hit at our home. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">For starters, kale is super duper healthy. True story. Google it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">For seconds, they are cheap and require you to purchase a bag of kale to add to basic home items. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Easy peasy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">For thirds, and perhaps the most important reason to Cay, we can totally nickname them "Dinosaur Chips".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Now, really, how do I go wrong with that? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They only con is that they make your house smell gross while cooking... but definitely not as bad as fish does, so we'll get over it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fHAhBK0F2TWxW7qO4P5BJVCGABJv6Fcf1jV3ynew96eDZnSJwRTNHC2sU340QJvF1cn1ASQq6U6xlhPWViiE5Ljup5cBoXKvoIKI2hURSNuGEORk4kbIFieWgbwH1yxx1M_TkUkJ45y3/s1600/534965_3644190826194_1317079606_3565993_324107762_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fHAhBK0F2TWxW7qO4P5BJVCGABJv6Fcf1jV3ynew96eDZnSJwRTNHC2sU340QJvF1cn1ASQq6U6xlhPWViiE5Ljup5cBoXKvoIKI2hURSNuGEORk4kbIFieWgbwH1yxx1M_TkUkJ45y3/s640/534965_3644190826194_1317079606_3565993_324107762_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Here is the way that I prep them:</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Ingredients-</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Bag of sliced and cleaned kale (Trader Joe's)</div><div style="text-align: center;">EVOO</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sea Salt</div><div style="text-align: center;">Everyday Seasoning from Trader Joe's</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Directions:</b> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Preheat oven to 300*F</div><div style="text-align: center;">Get your little sidekick ready to bake (aka wash hands).</div><div style="text-align: center;">Spray cookie sheet with your go-to no-stick spray, or put a thin layer of EVOO on it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Spread kale on it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Layer olive oil, toss evenly.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Get out any of the stumpy white part.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Layer on the sea salt & seasoning.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bake for 14 minutes or so.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Chow.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-27403598035458471472012-03-24T14:25:00.002-07:002012-04-02T00:27:19.527-07:00Special Day for my Special BoyEveryday, the autism community continues to amaze me. The things people volunteer to do for families like mine reminds me that I'm not alone, and help me feel reassured that Caydon's future is bright. How is it that one special day is literally all I need to pick my head back up when I'm feeling the stress hitting?<br />
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</div><div>Anyways, I am super thankful for the people we meet along this journey, and will always remember the fun-filled day we had. Here are some of the highlights!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQIFgvrMogjzrQllN8_Z7jNpP4yGWpmleA7Jg3dkFoWrprwVModJBVsiUd1avjOhgjzEXQHFBvhqAI3_6N8CN9rO_djBINPmQ1eVj3PI4lO-f0Ta_GsGAp4jhhZz6tl_WE2LfKMaZchF-/s1600/526290_3621987431123_1317079606_3554947_816760393_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQIFgvrMogjzrQllN8_Z7jNpP4yGWpmleA7Jg3dkFoWrprwVModJBVsiUd1avjOhgjzEXQHFBvhqAI3_6N8CN9rO_djBINPmQ1eVj3PI4lO-f0Ta_GsGAp4jhhZz6tl_WE2LfKMaZchF-/s320/526290_3621987431123_1317079606_3554947_816760393_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> bouncy houses galore!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCFu6ukBpiIdz9Lg7XsbWXm9bagKZOXcvAcqxPXhJ6TKaXiS0fly7yorYMc945aEBxsn7Dh6_98-LFvh8c5eqbQGwxWREryx2eYLmWVBAItpddwfma5nMqbqOse5nwQ0F8ywqFSI4RB_0/s1600/549574_3622376840858_1317079606_3555090_865628873_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihCFu6ukBpiIdz9Lg7XsbWXm9bagKZOXcvAcqxPXhJ6TKaXiS0fly7yorYMc945aEBxsn7Dh6_98-LFvh8c5eqbQGwxWREryx2eYLmWVBAItpddwfma5nMqbqOse5nwQ0F8ywqFSI4RB_0/s320/549574_3622376840858_1317079606_3555090_865628873_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">my boy and I <3 </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQkBaaXLCR8GhumjCZJbTIwCyWfPLzUadOc8RKmCt3rBVfYZcEpizSmBy6xadDzn2zjgHwxW7aPW6-2i0xUUjBHhIHe3bG0mXaGDByeeDbHUQvzaFpthnT2t_1WfXDmpAbPnSE8bCJJf6/s1600/306021_3622045352571_1317079606_3554990_1471513024_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQkBaaXLCR8GhumjCZJbTIwCyWfPLzUadOc8RKmCt3rBVfYZcEpizSmBy6xadDzn2zjgHwxW7aPW6-2i0xUUjBHhIHe3bG0mXaGDByeeDbHUQvzaFpthnT2t_1WfXDmpAbPnSE8bCJJf6/s320/306021_3622045352571_1317079606_3554990_1471513024_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">never without a petting zoo! there were also birds and animals to look at, but not pet</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxXZQAYVLf_7_efeUPmKm1E_3GQMt2s12N8KG72LgrRUoagxqAw2QJwxqjS_fZy6AILlSdoSwVYaUL8s6cOgaxOS1MFSAqje5P6yoVEYTszthJw-7nDXMD_gJUvLUKJqT7hFJ3lBl_hR5/s1600/549924_3622383721030_1317079606_3555092_692512704_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxXZQAYVLf_7_efeUPmKm1E_3GQMt2s12N8KG72LgrRUoagxqAw2QJwxqjS_fZy6AILlSdoSwVYaUL8s6cOgaxOS1MFSAqje5P6yoVEYTszthJw-7nDXMD_gJUvLUKJqT7hFJ3lBl_hR5/s320/549924_3622383721030_1317079606_3555092_692512704_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> train ride!!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfs-dlGh1tJL50plHsw7hYiTEgdSH7g-T3zIuyta2Gm4tK4_jAFflopL5dKCP6ewoRbh6xtXsdWUtVR_0np1EDcEB4lDAO_C0_HA8cZ6x9f5fqKJwo0Q9-1MeMYhhmsjfWPERvUxJzr1S2/s1600/563474_3622126834608_1317079606_3555020_1608361352_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfs-dlGh1tJL50plHsw7hYiTEgdSH7g-T3zIuyta2Gm4tK4_jAFflopL5dKCP6ewoRbh6xtXsdWUtVR_0np1EDcEB4lDAO_C0_HA8cZ6x9f5fqKJwo0Q9-1MeMYhhmsjfWPERvUxJzr1S2/s320/563474_3622126834608_1317079606_3555020_1608361352_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">exploring the ambulance. He also got to go inside a police car and firetruck!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjin1GW-t99rPGxST-OkwWT5yADaoIexTfTQQthd1-cYkNCh_DxfYxDgupzPMcOZvVY_TPzkchAwIdmLETAj6QJSnhHsiTF4_weF2cUZJh0eWLLC0cLQYxYO_QXev-pR-SG4V8eMsH4fa_4/s1600/558086_3622683488524_1317079606_3555238_392092322_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjin1GW-t99rPGxST-OkwWT5yADaoIexTfTQQthd1-cYkNCh_DxfYxDgupzPMcOZvVY_TPzkchAwIdmLETAj6QJSnhHsiTF4_weF2cUZJh0eWLLC0cLQYxYO_QXev-pR-SG4V8eMsH4fa_4/s320/558086_3622683488524_1317079606_3555238_392092322_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cay the Dino and Mommy the Bunny :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-46597992478045633492012-03-11T17:47:00.001-07:002012-03-12T13:52:04.253-07:00Top 10 Things Children with Autism Wish You Knew About Their ParentsWorth Reposting, via <span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=263879060357654&id=189171657828395" target="_blank">Always Unique Totally Interesting Sometimes Mysterious</a></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovSrmyB0UwLADPTuA8XZ7nSIhyphenhyphensRUe2epIdzs8Fquhn4qOr4s9t_pwTfgmq3pDeKA-bhcNQ-zKnWyZK3kQHx2Pi8xQ5DSWHj_M2zjaLtpSZkajLNAJyTDKTAgFrMc9CzzkEIjJPkTK7nk/s1600/429532_3501931549801_1317079606_3496392_378313672_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovSrmyB0UwLADPTuA8XZ7nSIhyphenhyphensRUe2epIdzs8Fquhn4qOr4s9t_pwTfgmq3pDeKA-bhcNQ-zKnWyZK3kQHx2Pi8xQ5DSWHj_M2zjaLtpSZkajLNAJyTDKTAgFrMc9CzzkEIjJPkTK7nk/s640/429532_3501931549801_1317079606_3496392_378313672_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Little Man is ALL about the "funny" faces lately. :)</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">10. I wish you knew that God chose my parents for me because they are SPECIAL just like ME.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">9. I wish you knew that just because our home is sometimes messy, that does not mean they are dirty or lazy. And just because my mom’s roots are showing, my dad is not clean shaved or their clothes do not match today, does not mean that they don’t care about themselves anymore; it just means they are too busy caring for me instead.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">8. I wish you knew that because they sometimes wear their heart on their sleeve, does not mean they are weak. In fact, they are the strongest people that I know.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">7. I wish you knew that just because they don’t do all the stuff they use to do, like go to family gatherings or hang out with friends very much anymore; it does not mean that they don’t want to. It is because they put my needs a head of their wants. They know that it is just too much for me to handle.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">6. I wish you knew that my parents would like for everyone to become more aware of autism. Autism is growing at a rate of 14% a year and 1 in every 110 children are being diagnosed. That means it may not be your kid, but at this fast growing rate, maybe it might be your kid’s child that suffers from this disability.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">5. I wish you knew that just because you might not have the same beliefs about how they should be parenting me, how autism is caused, what treatment they use for me and whether they believe autism can be cured or not, does not mean that you cannot listen and at least consider how they feel. You have not walked in their shoes and until you do, you should hold your opinions to yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">4. I wish you knew that because I may appear to look just like everyone else, I am not. Sometimes I scream, can’t sit still, invade your space, bite, hit or throw myself to the floor and you may feel that my parents are not holding up to your “standards” of parenting in these situations. It really means that they know more about autism than you do and punishing me for something that I have no control over would be plan cruel and that would be bad parenting.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">3. I wish you knew that when I am out in public and suffer a meltdown, your stares, do not hurt me because I don’t even notice. However, those stares and nasty comments do hurt my parents and family. This is a hard time for us and you being rude does not make it any easier. We have a right to be in public without scrutiny, just like everyone else.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">2. I wish you knew that just because I may be non-verbal or learn different from everyone else, it can make me an easy target for bullying or even abuse. I want you to know that if you hurt me in this way, you better hope the authorities take care of you before my parents have a chance to get a hold of you.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">1. I wish you knew that because I may not show eye contact to my parents, hug them or even tell them that I love them does not mean that I don’t care about them. Like I said above, my parents are SPECIAL and through all of that, deep down they can feel my love, my heart and my soul and know that I love them more than any words could ever say. They are my hero.</span><br />
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</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-70480412020775559992012-03-07T19:38:00.004-08:002012-03-07T19:53:01.428-08:00Dating a Single Mom of a Kiddo(s) with Autism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><i>Simply because us mommies deserve a guide book about our awesomeness.... and a laugh, while we're at it.</i><br />
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Reasons why you SHOULD date a Single Mom of a Kiddo(s) with Autism:<br />
<ol><li>We can make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We know how to make gluten and dairy free mac and cheese rock your world. </li>
<li>You know how we are as a mom, so you know we'll be just as good with your babies should we have more in the future.</li>
<li>We don't run away from life when it gets tough. You know we'll never abandon you if you get hurt or sick, nor will we do it to our kids. Rather, we'll become an advocate and a warrior, ensuring you and/or the kiddo gets exactly what is needed. Conversations about discipline, education programs, brain waves, therapies, poop, biomedical treatment, legislation, and the like are not foreign to us. We are masterminds and advocates on everything we need to know about what life has brought us through our circumstances. We even try to make the crappy situations as positive as we can. </li>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JbGyKmbueEVpZzJ9_G9BiOgisaz811W3iPQC75xZTPrOw0FHlDclyk0IbIj5q8RptBEPFx5SDTN3CPIgBHBwCx9StWM7RJg4toepCHpm6htEnjwtPpRnN4eGLZQJgmQQGY3c2Lgku49V/s1600/34844_1564748241429_1317079606_1562996_1998514_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JbGyKmbueEVpZzJ9_G9BiOgisaz811W3iPQC75xZTPrOw0FHlDclyk0IbIj5q8RptBEPFx5SDTN3CPIgBHBwCx9StWM7RJg4toepCHpm6htEnjwtPpRnN4eGLZQJgmQQGY3c2Lgku49V/s400/34844_1564748241429_1317079606_1562996_1998514_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><li>Your bodily functions won't phase us. "Gross" isn't in our vernacular. We've been pooped, puked, and peed on more than once. If you have something in your teeth, telling you won't be awkward.</li>
<li>We have our priorities in order, and know exactly what we want & what we are looking for. We know how to identify and appreciate a good man, and a good friend, because of life experiences. </li>
<li>We know how to kill our own spiders, and pull our own weeds. <i>Thank-you-very-much.</i> We are independent, low maintenance, and don't have time for gossip or drama. We are used to doing things for ourselves.</li>
<li>You know that if we aren't with you, we are with our kids or making our lives better through education and our careers. We don't have time to play the field, or play mind games. We are less promiscuous than other single ladies. We don't have energy to exert to being out all night, and are cautious about the results of getting physical. We know how to enjoy being home on a Friday night, know exactly who we are, and won't pretend otherwise. We also don't need a constant check-in with you to have esteem in a relationship.</li>
<li>We are financially savvy, and know how to budget like a Fortune 500 corporation. We can make our 5 year old pair of jeans and our house full of Goodwill furniture look good. We aren't used to being spoiled, and we have plans on how to reach our own success if we haven't gotten there yet. We put our kid's medical bills and gluten, casein, & soy free diet before our Jimmy Choos and martinis.</li>
<li>We are patient and nurturing, even when we are getting hit, bit, and kicked by our kiddo. We know how to forgive, and understand that no one is perfect. (Though we should point out that we won't be patient with <i>you</i> trying this on us...)</li>
<li>We don't mind your minor flaws like how you brush your teeth. Actually, your quirks are probably something we don't even notice, let alone get phased by. We are much more thankful that you didn't pee on the wall or in your pants than we are concerned about your putting the toilet seat lid back down.</li>
<li>We know how to truly love someone. We know how to give it without always receiving it in return.</li>
<li>We never under-appreciate when love is expressed, in any form. We hear love even in our kiddo's wordless moments. We will never undervalue things you tell us or do for us, or our kids. We appreciate the little things. Weeds are our flowers. A scribbled stick-figure is art. A macaroni necklace beats Tiffany & Co. any day (though, we don't mind it!!)</li>
</ol><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnytpw4uyeTMaJnRFqiwoPx8FHrvyhIiEAAG3Ql7XrybgGHKcotbwqRkp3WwzDxSq8vlsggz0Z4A-TivHdePZgj1lr4KVyDslqsxXVIo9KNFbQzRb2SKgaWGHLGnepHLHjL27iZqcXnb99/s1600/388147_2690216137423_1317079606_3155002_1645373327_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnytpw4uyeTMaJnRFqiwoPx8FHrvyhIiEAAG3Ql7XrybgGHKcotbwqRkp3WwzDxSq8vlsggz0Z4A-TivHdePZgj1lr4KVyDslqsxXVIo9KNFbQzRb2SKgaWGHLGnepHLHjL27iZqcXnb99/s640/388147_2690216137423_1317079606_3155002_1645373327_n.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Reasons why you should be CAUTIOUS and AWARE about dating us Mommies:<br />
<div><ol><li>If you meet our kids, know that you are an exception. Getting attached is highly likely, and your perceptions about the world... especially disabilities.. will likely change. </li>
<li>We have less time to date, and may cancel because of our priorities. If we do, take note and remember our favorite romantic comedy at Blockbuster, and our kiddo's favorite GFCFSF snack. Just because we cancel doesn't mean we don't want to see you.</li>
<li>Childcare arrangements can be a pain in the butt. Luckily, we understand and agree to this. Another excuse to be amazing with the movies and snacks...</li>
<li>You won't be top priority. Our kids fill that spot. If you don't like our kids, you better know not to let the door hit you on your way out. Our kids will always be first.</li>
<li>Words like <i>stupid</i> or <i>retarded</i> will be added to your "bad word" list. You'll learn how to be compassionate for others, and not have your head stuck in the place where the sun don't shine.</li>
<li>It can be difficult to gain our trust, but once you do, you'll have it all until you prove that you don't deserve it.</li>
<li>You will be under constant scrutiny. The first sign of an unforgivable flaw will make us run for it.</li>
<li>We can be Type A (read: controlling) simply because we are used to having to be our kid's everything and maintain the order/stability.</li>
</ol><div><br />
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<i>What Am I missing?? Let me know, and I'll add it! :)</i></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-53993775455994936652012-02-28T16:05:00.004-08:002012-02-28T16:12:46.725-08:00If I Ever...If I ever were to get a tattoo, I'd get something that had to do with a life changing event. I always admire people that put a deceased family member on their arm or ankle... wherever they see fit. While I'm not so big on tattoos EVERYWHERE, I don't mind a few. I've always been a major chicken, though. I mean, huge. The whole "growing old with it" thing just freaks me out. I love the idea of growing old with my soul mate (wherever you may be!) but growing old with my... skin??!.... freaky. However, if I, personally, were to get a tattoo, I'd probably want something that has to do with my faith, autism, and.. of course.. my little guy.<br />
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Which leads me to what I've been pondering lately. This little number:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlJHPhWt2o6oRbmSvREOmvGBPU-BkJTDsLXSbUPyx8sL_KUWr05xC6ltM91nuiokQ7pQ0giIrnzk_CrkqDq9CN2PjNlBj0spG6q_0PoTtX3oIBMSwKNxFo9dM03d2Pwi6GAs8pX-Zglfl/s1600/36662184436056350_o8nMcRyJ_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlJHPhWt2o6oRbmSvREOmvGBPU-BkJTDsLXSbUPyx8sL_KUWr05xC6ltM91nuiokQ7pQ0giIrnzk_CrkqDq9CN2PjNlBj0spG6q_0PoTtX3oIBMSwKNxFo9dM03d2Pwi6GAs8pX-Zglfl/s640/36662184436056350_o8nMcRyJ_f.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
It means Faith (cross), Hope (anchor), Love (heart). In case you aren't sure. I'm not so sure about incorporating Cay (DOB??), but the phrase so happens to be what I have driven on my car for the past 5 years... pretty much all of Caydon's life. Which brings me to my story of my car. Pooooooey....<br />
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If I EVER were to be in another car accident, I'd like to be in one like I just was in. We were ALL ok... and I didn't even have to deal with the "oh, my neck" lines from the person I hit. Did I mention I was totally at fault? I was. Did I mention that they completely let me go... without so much as getting any information? They did. Crazy? I think so. BUT, I am not going to fight it. I actually tried to <i>(I would) </i>doing the whole <i>"but... what if you find a leak when you get home?!" </i>and <i>"what if you decide that big cave I just made in your trunk won't be your favorite thing in a few days!?" </i>Obviously, I'm not so used to people being nice for no reason. We do live in 2012, after all. ((OH, and a few people said that maybe they weren't insured/registered. Explain the madness. But, they were...)) They go to my church, and gave me a hug with a "your car looks a lot worse than ours..." excuse. I'm trying to be content with that. ;)<br />
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See, the thing is... on that Sunday I confirmed with a member of our church the day that I am getting baptized. <b>March 4th. </b>I always, always wanted my hubby to be baptized at the same time as me. A hopeless romantic, I totally am. However, I've come to realize that it's time to live the life God intended for me without this trying to wait for a hole to be filled... <i>or try to fill it myself</i>. I've been praying hard for God to fill the hole I have with patience, and contentment that I know I absolutely can get from His love. You single mommy readers know the hole... the one that I occasionally have when nights get lonely as a single mom. Or, the hole that randomly appears when I have to weed my backyard all. by. myself. like I <strike>did</strike> attempted to do, but gave up on, this last Sunday. I've been praying for a fullfillment to come from God. Really, I have. Now, granted, if God wanted me to get married someday soon, would I mind? Let alone fight it? <u>Absolutely not</u>. However, I'm not going to push things. Rush things. Attach to things. Things, or idiot guys that I seem to find easier than I wish I could. (Where the good guys are is an answer I will gladly share when I know!) I want a hope and fullfillment that I can find in Christ, because deep down I know that He loves me more than any husband possibly could. So, no more waiting for my hubby to be either the one dunking me, or the one getting dunked <i>with</i> me. It's happening, folks. Truly. This lady here is getting baptized and putting her life 100% for God. And, I couldn't be more excited.<br />
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<i>Ok. Back to the car.</i> Based off of this "spiritual high," I was kind of not paying as much attention as I should have. <i>Ok, I was on the phone. I <strike>can't</strike> would rather not lie...</i> I was hanging up a message with my grandparents on their answering machine telling them to mark their calendars. Which reminds me, I was never able to call my other set of grandparents. I need to get on that! I was a bit distracted when the jeep in front of me stopped suddenly by a red light runner. My reaction time was too slow. My car is huuurrt. It appears (by my own car guy's visual inspection,) that I will need a new hood, bumper, "grill" (the criss-cross part of my car where the toyota label sits.. whatever that may be called,) new lights, new wiring, and a new side of the car. Not to mention what may be wrong with the engine once we get to it. <b>Read: Totaled.</b><br />
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On a totally randomly good note, I get to drive this little baby (with only 4,000 miles... read: new car smell. MMMM..) all over town:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.davis-moore.com/imagessub/2009%20Mazda%206%20Arrived.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="http://www.davis-moore.com/imagessub/2009%20Mazda%206%20Arrived.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I love it so much, I want to buy this bad boy. I've always wanted more of a "mom car," but I'm really willing to <strike>splurg </strike>"settle" for this little bad boy. I guess time will tell. Money would help, though. Truly.<br />
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So, there you have it. A story about my <strike>ache for a husband</strike> contentment with my life, my need for a new car, and my excitement about baptism. Think of me this Sunday when I get dunked! :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-19411722677925983222012-02-23T07:22:00.000-08:002012-02-23T07:22:00.232-08:00Song of My Life...Lately I've been praying for contentment with where Cay and I are. I want to be content with our little 2 person family. Let's face it, God intended for families to be nuclear. Be mad at me all you want for saying it, but it's <i>so</i> obvious when dealing with bills all by yourself, when you need a break from the little one, or those lonely nights when you get lost in a book (or tv for those of you that watch it) so that you have company. Yet, it's not going to happen on my terms. Regardless of how hard I try, the perfect guy isn't going to come around until God wants to bring him into our lives. Patience is<i> such </i>a virtue... and contentment is absolutely something that I pray I am filled with sooner than later. God is absolutely able to be the missing piece for Cay. He is able and <b>willing</b> to be the 3rd part of our family that provides, who is always there (more so than lots of parents can say these days!), and that loves unconditionally... even to a child as "difficult" as one with autism. ((My last boyfriend didn't like Cay because of how "difficult" he is... hence why we broke up... so a guy who can handle the boy is HUGE to me!)) God <i>absolutely</i> is a father to the fatherless!<br />
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Ever have one of those songs that completely fits the bill for your life? What about a movie or a book? Maybe an article? I <i>totally</i> do right now... which hardly ever happens. Us single moms have quite unique scenarios. Some artists can absolutely understand what I'm going through.. but it's often so gloomy and depressing. Single motherhood isn't <u>all</u> bad!!<br />
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This is what I've been listening to non-stop lately. It's such a great song!!!<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-Tu6NQ4L01w?fs=1" width="480"></iframe><br />
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Coolest part? Right now, K-Love is giving a <a href="http://www.klove.com/music/store.aspx" target="_blank">free download</a> of the song, <i>Just Another Birthday </i>by Casting Crowns, to any who want it. Awesome, right!? Be prepared to make it your new anthem, too :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-89672970390738092862012-02-22T19:11:00.000-08:002012-02-22T19:11:24.384-08:00For All Things Random & HIlarious... and drrrrreaaamy.<br />
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/402138_3366087673789_1317079606_3436799_1874271841_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/402138_3366087673789_1317079606_3436799_1874271841_n.jpg" width="640" /></a>Check out the new Balancing the Bucket<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Balancing-the-Bucket/233524293408788" target="_blank"> Facebook Page</a> to see what I'm talking about. ;)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-3047869213671627692012-02-20T17:11:00.000-08:002012-02-20T17:11:00.567-08:00The New Argument to Stay Up Late"When I grow up, I be a dad. See? I growing up. So I be a dad now and I grown up. So I no sleep because I a dad now."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAoW9lp8tQTrGtRxcGWcu6qi2C31biF0I6bSDXeXNxsCn_Nw09thxXCT2B4flMRwpA7bGTxC1JkAu8ACsQ4_jOjaHLcv67om5HAGd-v97XaZYPMXIeEyjoxPbeXPv6H5U9qNbDp-Hh0Hm/s1600/418046_3383408466798_1317079606_3442201_1506056114_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAoW9lp8tQTrGtRxcGWcu6qi2C31biF0I6bSDXeXNxsCn_Nw09thxXCT2B4flMRwpA7bGTxC1JkAu8ACsQ4_jOjaHLcv67om5HAGd-v97XaZYPMXIeEyjoxPbeXPv6H5U9qNbDp-Hh0Hm/s640/418046_3383408466798_1317079606_3442201_1506056114_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-63522475941270634162012-02-19T21:19:00.000-08:002012-02-19T21:36:34.178-08:00You REALLY want to play the cognitive game, huh!?You'll have to excuse the rant, and checklist format of this post. I'm in a mood. I had a LONG day (car accident... long story), and I really want to be all hyper-active-IEP-advocate-mom instead of search-for-a-new-car-with-a-lack-of-funds-single-mom.<i> Bare with me...</i><br />
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</div>The other day, at Cay's Review of Existing Data, his school IEP team decided to tell me that they suspect more than the Autism/ADHD/ODD/ED labels that he's been slapped with.... Wait for it... You sure you want to know?... ok, here we go... ((breathe, self. breathe))... Cognitive Delay. REALLY!? Albeit the fact that they did have a relatively decent explanation as to why, but it still wasn't one that amused me much. If they only knew how hard and often we work on his name, his personal info (he still asks me how old he is.. let alone other info), and work on phonics/numbers....<br />
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So, along with a bunch of other assessments (another post for a different rant day...) they will be testing his IQ again at a very in-depth range. <i>At least I was able to do this with the advocate side of me.</i><br />
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</i><br />
<i>Confession: </i>Is it bad that I started bawling once I got into my car? Seriously. I teach special education for a living, for goodness sakes. I know the value of kids with cognitive delays. Helk, I want to adopt a baby with Downs someday. But.. ugh... my Caydon!? Really?! For some reason, that was quite difficult to take in. I think it was a slap in the face for the progress we HAVE made, while giving me a dose of potential reality.<br />
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Psychologically speaking, parents actually do mourn for their child upon a diagnosis. As if they are mourning the loss of the child that they thought they had. Truly, I practically took a class on it in my undergrad program. Is this what the tear works were? Hmmm.Maybe those tears weren't so odd, after all.<br />
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Anyways, <i>I'm getting really sidetracked</i>. I don't care about my tears, I care about Caydon's "cognitive function." Onto google I go.<i> Cognitive Function concerns for a 5 year old with Autism. </i> Too complex. <i>Cognitive Function concerns for a 5 year old</i>. Period. Hmm. Closer. <i>Congitive Function.... </i>erase.... <i>Typical 5 year old milestones</i>. Closer.<b> </b><i>Normal 5 year old milestones</i>. Bingo. Really? I had to dumb down my question?? I had to use the word "normal" verses "typical"? Hmmph. Google. Not a good night for you, I take it. Well, crappy day for me, too. I'll let it slide this time.<br />
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What I found: (source-Medline Plus @ <a href="http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/002016.htm">http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/002016.htm</a>)<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;">Physical and motor skill milestones for a 5-year-old child may include:</div><ul style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; list-style-type: none; text-align: left;"><li>Gains about 4 - 5 pounds per year <i>(sure does)</i></li>
<li>Grows about 2 - 3 inches per year <i>(check)</i></li>
<li>Vision has reached 20/20 (<i>nope.. this reminds me, I need to push those glasses he needs up on my priority list. Hmmmm. Car or glasses? Focus, self. Focus.)</i></li>
<li>Erupting the first permanent teeth (most children do not get their first permanent teeth until age 6) <i>(hah, he got his first tooth at 14 months. Which I was THRILLED about. Easiest breastfeeding ever... did that until 17 months. Rockstar mom. Sad boobs. Maybe they were right about me having ADHD)</i></li>
<li>Developing increased coordination <i>(come again?)</i></li>
<li>Skipping, jumping, and hopping with good balance (<i>attempts. I was just happy he tries...)</i></li>
<li>Maintaining balance while standing on one foot with eyes closed <i>(pah, I don't know if I can even do this..)</i></li>
<li>Showing increased skill with simple tools and writing utensils <i>(he likes his tools like his mommy does)</i></li>
<li>Can copy a triangle <i>(nope! but he can hold a pencil now! AND he finally draws pictures!!)</i></li>
<li>Spreads with a knife <i>(this is his gig. thank you, Ikea, for your cheap plastic knives. blue, of course.)</i></li>
</ul><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;">Sensory and cognitive milestones:</div><ul style="background-color: white; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; list-style-type: none; text-align: left;"><li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Vocabulary increasing to over 2,000 words <i>(yes, I count this consistently. REALLY!?)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Composing sentences of 5 or more words, and with all parts of speech <i>(sort of. really, really bad grammar. Gosh, I am SUCH an English teacher!)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Identifying coins <i>(ehhh, no)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Counting to 10 <i>(yes, most of the time, he doesn't mess up! but this took a LONG time to do)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Properly naming the primary colors and possibly many more <i>(yes)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Questioning more deeply, addressing meaning and purpose <i>(Mommy, why did God stop making dinosaurs? Mommy, can I make a nesting ground to make more baby dinosaurs again? These count... right?)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Responding to "why" questions <i>(he finally asks "why" questions... that's what they mean, right? No, awe man. Appease me)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Behaving more responsibly and apologizing for mistakes <i>(hah)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Decreasing aggressive behavior <i>(decreasing? possibly. worse because he's stronger? certainly)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Outgrowing earlier childhood fears <i>(just beginning to get fears. hmm)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Accepting other points of view (but may not understand them) <i>(sooo far from it)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Demonstrating increased mathematical skill <i>(he can count up to 10 now. finally. this counts!)</i></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">Questioning others, including parents </span></span><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">(always has... even when he didn't speak, he still questioned me)</span></span></i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Strongly identifying with the parent of the same sex <i>(well, since this guy is MIA. Let's just say, "N/A")</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Having a group of friends <i>(sadly... no...)</i></li>
<li style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Engaging in imaginative play (for example, a trip to the moon) <i> (YES! The boy loves "We're going on a bear hunt!" This mommy used to teach preschool, oh yes, she did!!)</i></li>
</ul><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;">Ways to encourage a 5-year-old's development may include:</div><ul style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; list-style-type: none; text-align: left;"><li>Reading together <i>(check!)</i></li>
<li>Providing the necessary space for physical activity <i>(my house is a therapy and craft center, plus he has a backyard all to himself)</i></li>
<li>Instructing the child to participate in -- and learn the rules of -- sporting activities <i>(check. effort here!)</i></li>
<li>Encouraging the child to play with other children, which helps develop social skills <i>(always...)</i></li>
<li>Playing creatively with the child <i>(ehhh I encourage it!?)</i></li>
<li>Monitoring both the time and content of television viewing <i>(we don't own a TV. Check!)</i></li>
<li>Visiting local areas of interest <i>(Dinosaur Museum? Always...)</i></li>
<li>Encouraging the child to take responsibility for small household chores, such as helping set the table or picking up toys after playing <i>(Yes! Lots of hand over hand, but we're getting there!)</i></li>
</ul><br />
Hmm. This gives me a lot to think about... and a lot to stress about. I really shouldn't give those darn milestones that much thought, anyways. Who defines a "typical" child!? Really! There is no such thing as "typical" because the "typical" child is "atypical" to his peers in some way. Or so that's my quirky theory.<br />
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Am I the only one who runs wild with what someone says about your child? Tell me I'm not the only one with a kiddo on the spectrum who hears the "Cognitive Delay" thing!?! Any suggestions for the situation we're in... besides mommy stressin' out about it!?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-47091486168821165202012-02-18T16:27:00.000-08:002012-02-18T17:56:09.449-08:00Wow, Memes are Us!Apparently my Autism Mom meme (aka something I did out of boredom) was a hit. Seriously? Thank you, you guys! It has completely made my day!! :)<br />
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I had a few people request for an Autism itself meme, and I couldn't resist. Advocacy? Something I'm passionate about? Absolutely happening!!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDX7RqyV3o2zWOkvIcFiwic7g1L8PAJi3539oomjMyB2Ie7wdZyu8qJ1GLjKcatv6NQInDgNDNOW5HQoWO7pRnZFCn2Y55jCODlptSz9V0fvIUHkA_cwaAg2XPpkYGPixBVaZQaXvNzRm0/s1600/autism.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDX7RqyV3o2zWOkvIcFiwic7g1L8PAJi3539oomjMyB2Ie7wdZyu8qJ1GLjKcatv6NQInDgNDNOW5HQoWO7pRnZFCn2Y55jCODlptSz9V0fvIUHkA_cwaAg2XPpkYGPixBVaZQaXvNzRm0/s640/autism.PNG" width="640" /></a><br />
<b>What my friends think I am-</b> This part makes me sad. Actually, a lot of this meme makes me sad. But the final part makes it worth it, so bare with me. I chose to do a kid that was getting teased/gossiped about. I see this waay too often in my job, and I HATE it. I actually make the kids that tease a student with autism come in at lunch to do an autism awareness lesson that I've designed for this sole purpose. Awareness, kids!!!<br />
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<b>What my team thinks I am</b>- I categorized everyone who is on "Team Autism" (Or, "Team Caydon" as we call it in my house) under one category. It's a fairy common idea that kids with autism are stuck from the real world under some sort of foggy glass. Another sad way to look at it, but we all know that our kids view things from a different perspective...<br />
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<b>What society thinks I am</b>- Rain Man! The biggest autism stereotype there is, right!?!<br />
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<b>What the government thinks I am</b>- Another advocacy pic. The sign reads, "Toxic Vaccines? Just ask me!" Which I think shows how this controversial topic effects our kids with autism personally.<br />
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<b>What I think I do</b>- I used a junior scientist observing a stack of pennies because of our kid's way of looking at the world in their own unique way. The stack of coins... well, it reminds of how Cay lines up his dinosaurs and sorts everything he can get his cute little stubbers on.<br />
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<b>What I really an</b>- I <i>love</i> this poster that I've seen floating around, and what a better time for it! I couldn't put it any better... our kids are SO much more than Autism! The poster speaks for itself:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSCEdKzc1oehDKCyzM_nWgjiIrO1MUmb3IZRuimnaVgFiq5KGwBz5H8i_gonUpsnielTE71nwOqrsHjimRuu8owjiI9oFTsotPrrFd7aUR9IPe0NyLQVxAz1P3rEzXKjoiknp35GuAQpa/s1600/225583_2070477484344_1317079606_2523200_142590_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSCEdKzc1oehDKCyzM_nWgjiIrO1MUmb3IZRuimnaVgFiq5KGwBz5H8i_gonUpsnielTE71nwOqrsHjimRuu8owjiI9oFTsotPrrFd7aUR9IPe0NyLQVxAz1P3rEzXKjoiknp35GuAQpa/s400/225583_2070477484344_1317079606_2523200_142590_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I also received a request for Autism Dads, so stay tuned. This one shall be interesting... as I have NO CLUE about this wonderful, but rare, breed of guys! Any ideas??Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-64128835277782466902012-02-17T19:54:00.000-08:002012-02-18T11:48:54.533-08:00Autism Mom MemeI couldn't resist... us moms, we deserve our own little play on the popular meme that's going around. I know it's <i>my</i> perception, but I'm assuming I'm not the only one that experiences these stereotypes.<br />
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Here we go:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhn4rMKUoicY5QD9xympNJboSwfg047ifWTjDJocD4UDlOzjHRD1KzujzZXI0iC6xr6HlPw_oUKuU05v-e1N0OaZ8ib7qnieYfhGGB1ogIBzdmfM2HtEWXFhlmtlbHsAxXdnE8rv6h6O3/s1600/Autism+Moms.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhn4rMKUoicY5QD9xympNJboSwfg047ifWTjDJocD4UDlOzjHRD1KzujzZXI0iC6xr6HlPw_oUKuU05v-e1N0OaZ8ib7qnieYfhGGB1ogIBzdmfM2HtEWXFhlmtlbHsAxXdnE8rv6h6O3/s640/Autism+Moms.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>What my friends think I do</b>- Apparently, we fight meltdowns all day. I would be lying to say that most of my friends have left us hanging... stopped inviting us to playdates and birthdays.. because of Cay's differences. Whether I agree with it or not, it's reality. What's sad is that those who look deeper realize that there is so much more to Cay than meltdowns, most just choose not to. I'm so thankful for the friends who have taken the time to realize that autism doesn't define my child or my parenting, and that meltdowns don't define autism.. it's just a part of our world and the meltdowns are a result of a rough autism moment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>What my mom (and dad) thinks I do</b>- My mom, who has her grandma goggles glued on tight, refuses to think that Caydon's autism is more than a reaction to my facebook addiction. Let's just say... I don't own a computer, and I don't own a T.V. I read when Cay is asleep. So, really? Autism is a result of my facebook addiction? Umm... ok. sure thing, mom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>What society thinks I do</b>- Oh, my, if looks could kill. My favorite moment is when Cay is having a meltdown or doing something quirky, and someone gives me a dirty look. I am absolutely the person who says something back, often along the lines of "staring won't cure his autism!" I don't neglect or abuse my child... he has autism, and I have nothing to do with it except for trying to help him out. But, wow, the looks I get when I have to restrain Cay so he doesn't dart in front of a car or hurt himself. 'Nough said.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>What the government thinks I do</b>- Hah! I think the Jenny McCarthy stereotype kind of rubs off on people that don't know autism beyond her advocacy and "rain man". The government seems to think that we are all a bunch of anti-vaccine (even though I am.. but I'm so much more complex than this!) fighters who don't have anything better to do with our surplus of time than to fight it. Really? Fight for what my kiddo needs? Absolutely. Fight for it just because? Umm... not so much. Fight excessively? Far from it. I like the time. Just because biomedical treatments seem to be effective for some kids, and vaccine seems to make sense for others, doesn't mean I'm a green shirt wearing, tree-hugging celebrity. ((I should also mention that this isn't intended to be a McCarthy bash. Kuddos to her for helping her son, even if I would have done it differently...))</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>What I think I do-</b> Get ready for war! Some days I love autism.. it makes my boy SO unique and awesome. Other days (when he's beating me up and I can't do much to stop it but wait for the change of tides, for example) I absolutely hate it. Then you add on the fact that I teach special education and I'm in a world of autism... and, yes, I go to war with it daily. Maybe I'm not quite as prepared as one that has on her military gear, but some days, I could use it. <i>I am still adamant that I do this, on a 24-7 basis. :)</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>What I really do</b>- Without a doubt, I love my boy! I can assume that any parent who helps their kiddo that has autism, without a doubt, loves their little one. This picture is actually of Cay and myself, when he was a wee one. I adore it because Cay had just gotten stitches. No "owie" seemed to phase him for the longest time, and he was happy as a clam when walking into ER to get stitches. After the fact, he was being super sweet and cuddly. Couldn't resist a little photo session, and I'm so glad I did. This picture reminds me that, even when he couldn't communicate love, I know he felt mine and he felt it in return. It makes me smile because it took place before he was able to tell me he loves me, but how can you <i>possibly </i>second guess the relationship the two of us have?? I'm certain, without a doubt, that this relationship goes on for all families affected by autism. We all share the willingness to do anything for our kiddo(s), while sharing the confidence that love can be spoken, even when words can't be used.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129125601209746388.post-28113361672636373932012-02-16T20:46:00.000-08:002012-02-18T11:20:43.514-08:00Wahoo!<div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">I am so VERY excited to share with my bloggy friends the news that Cay has been accepted into a study called, the "Nutritional and Dietary Treatment Study for Children and Adults with Autism," which is sponsored by Arizona State University. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://autism.asu.edu/Images/ASUAUTISMLOGO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="100" src="http://autism.asu.edu/Images/ASUAUTISMLOGO.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">I had to push a bit for Cay to get accepted (the squeaky mouse gets the cheese, right!?), and then Cay had to "prove" his autism through the ADOS assessment. Let's just say his autism was "proven".. and it's still just as classified at his current level as he was back when he first regressed. I didn't even have to show him our huge stash of files (it's a file-bin purse) collection to them! As in, none of his prior levels mattered. Bitter sweet, ya'll. <i>Am I the only one who goes to sleep dreaming that maybe their kiddo is progressing so much that the "autism" label won't apply anymore</i>? I know, I know. Coming straight out of the mouth of a special education teacher. But... I'm honest, right??! He does still qualify into the label as "Autistic," even if I do think he is rockin' in his progress. Hmmph...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/405574_3355197561543_1317079606_3432730_907256281_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/405574_3355197561543_1317079606_3432730_907256281_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Awesome Sign from the place that did his assessments! :)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">Anywho...</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">We are accepted. I am THRILLED. I prayed hard about it.. whether it was the right thing to put Cay into (I so do NOT want him to be a guinea pig) and then for us to be accepted if it is God's will. Apparently, it is! :D</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">It consists of studying the affect of vitamins, minerals, essential fatty acids, carnitine, digestive enzymes, magnesium sulfate, and the GFCFSF diet. Everything but the food is free! We went to a lengthy meeting (where Caydon told everyone he was make "nesting grounds for [his] cretaceous period dinosaurs,") and came home with a huge copy of the power points.</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">This is the "jist" of it::</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/395342_3356193186433_1317079606_3433296_2026872236_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/395342_3356193186433_1317079606_3433296_2026872236_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/419945_3356208386813_1317079606_3433308_1738343605_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/419945_3356208386813_1317079606_3433308_1738343605_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">The purpose of this test is to give the DAN! doctors and those of us who believe in Biomedical Treatments for autism a leg up when we approach insurance companies and state legislators. I'm very intrigued!!</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">So, stay tuned. I am full of anticipation as to what can be a result of this study for Cay. Possibly huge progress, and possibly a little. Either way, regressions are rare... I'm definitely not complaining.</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-left;">This weekend, I wake Cay up for midnight pee in a bag twice, and syringe it into little tubes (gross), he starts a heavy vitamin supplement, and then I try to comfort Cay through 13 blood vials Saturday morning. <i>Ick. </i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0