Are You Ready To Have Children?

A "should you have kids" decision tree by MomLogic.com:

Was Boo Radley Autistic?

DMFP contemplates if Arthur "Boo" Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird was on the spectrum:

He's shy. He likes children and the only time we see him comfortable in the story is when he's walking back to his home, Scout's hand in his.

But he stabbed someone in the leg, casually, without emotion. While collecting clippings for a scrapbook. He chooses odd ways to let someone know he likes them, leaving a strange assortment of bits and pieces in the hollow of the tree. It's a distant and unusual method of communication. And he knows enough to defend the innocent from impending danger. He's uncomfortable with lights and with talking to people.

The adults in the book consistently describe Boo as "harmless" and "innocent," in spite of the event with the scissors. The children and more dramatic neighbors manufacture dire tales of his yellow teeth and propensity to eat small mammals raw, but the people in the story whom we trust the most trust Boo and believe that he, at the core, is a good person, just kind of odd.

You'll have to read the rest to discover her conclusions. And you'll have to post a comment to let us know yours.

Brand Ambassador For The View

Last week I became an official View Brand Ambassador, part of the Mom Central campaign for ABC Daytime. This means you'll be hearing more from me on The View and while I will receive a tote bag or other The View branded items for &/or to facilitate my commentary &/or reviews, I'm really excited to have the opportunity to participate in the discussion about and promotion of one of my favorite shows -- yup, one of my favorite shoes, not just a daytime favorite. Being an ambassador for the show means I now have a legitimate reason to watch shows, uninterrupted. *wink*

So consider this post a disclaimer -- and warning of things to come, both here and at my other blog, Kitsch Slapped. (Heck, it might even show up at other places, depending upon the topic!)

If you're a fan of The View, right now Mom Central has an exciting contest: The View Sweepstakes. The prize for one lucky winner? A trip to New York City to watch a taping of The View! The sweepstakes is open until February 28th and I encourage you to enter -- but I hope I win!

PS If you join Mom Central, befriend me here!

PPS I am a participant in a Mom Central campaign for ABC Daytime and will receive a tote bag or other The View branded items to facilitate my review.

Hats Off To Autism

Promote awareness of autism with this Autism Awareness Puzzle Hat by MsYarn Designs.



The pattern is knit flat, uses Intarsia method of color work, and there is a separate chart for each of the sizes. The pattern is just $5 and portion of the proceeds will be donated to Autism Society.

I Heart Autism

Today my Valentine's don't only go to my family & friends that I love, but to Autism too.

It may seem dumb to say you love something which has as caused as much fuss, pain, frustration, and problems as Asperger's Syndrome has for my family, but aside from the challenges which have taught me things I likely would not otherwise have known (blessings in themselves), my daughter has Asperger's -- and I love her.

Every part of her.

Not "in spite of" or despite whatever it is that we call "Aspergers Syndrome," but I love it too because it is part of who she is.

Since today is the second Sunday in February, today is also the International Day of Prayer for Autism and Asperger's Syndrome. My prayer is for understanding, acceptance, and assistance as needed for those affected by issues on the Autism spectrum. Which is all anyone can ask for, really.

A Rose By Any Other Name... Is Still Late

Doodle Week was posted a bit late this week, so I'm posting my doodle late too. But come on, it's doodling, so no worries. In fact, feel free to doodle your own flower and post it as late as you'd like *wink*

Tales From Seventh Grade

For those of you who wish to be drawn back into the memories of junior high...

First, daughter number two tells me a story from study hall:

She: I'm so pleased with myself today.

Me: What did you do?

She: In study hall, a couple of boys were being rude and mean. They were making fun of black people, handicapped people, fat people, and Nazis.

Me: Well, I might have allowed the making fun of Nazis, but the rest is bad. These boys must think pretty poorly of themselves to pick on other people, especially the handicapped. What did you do?

She: They drew something on a piece of paper and passed it to this boy who is larger -- and you could tell by his face he was hurt by it. But he just crumpled it up and tossed it in the garbage can. My friend went to get it.

Me: Silent (But instantly transported back in time and trying not to giggle over the days when garbage picking were 'normal'.)

She: And we were like, 'OMG. Somebody has to do something.' So I went up to the principal's office and told them what happened. And they're going to talk to those mean boys. So I feel pretty good that I did something about mean boys.

I'll admit I was pretty proud too.

Next, Des tells me this story of how she was embarrassed.

For this story, my thoughts, withheld at the time, are now expressed in the parenthesis. Names have been omitted for privacy sake. (If Destiny reads this, she may kill me as it is!)

My friend was upset because she just found out that one of her best friends died a year ago.

(Not to make fun of the death of a child, but there are plenty of reasons to giggle over a person you call a BFF but don't even know they died. For an entire year. Ah, teenage girl drama!)

She was crying in the library, back by the history books, in a section where no one ever goes -- by the Hillary Clinton books.

(A thousand arrows swiftly entered my history-loving and feminist heart. But if I ever need a place to hide in the junior high...)

Me and a bunch of my friends tried to cheer her up by singing a song to her. We sounded horrible. And it was working, she was starting to smile. Then X (the boy Des likes) walked by.

(Far less embarrassing, I think, that the early parts of the story; but then I've survived this and worse. However, it turns out that this boy she likes is also the object of as-of-yet-unrequited from several of the "horribly singing" girls. So I imagine there will be future stories over that issue -- and I shall have to keep mum quite a bit then too.)

Pause To Reflect, Paws To Count

We keep telling this story, and every time it makes me laugh.

When hubby was writing about mustaches, and dogs wearing them, he wrote:

one of our dogs is horribly stupid, and would probably injure herself trying to use the toy improperly.

What he intended to do was offer a photo of our stupid dog, but he selected the post in which she, Toodles "Squirrel Face" Davidson III, is next to a giant calculator. Which to me, seems to imply that the dog is so dumb, she needs to use a calculator as opposed to a dog being able to do math in its head. lol



Ween, on the other hand, is probably smart enough to use an abacus (yes, we own one); not that I'd ever be able to get a photo of that.

One Fortune Cookie Night

What with all our blended family & travel necessities, our immediate family opens their gifts during the week of holiday vacation the kids have. This year, before opening our gifts, we went out to dinner at the Chinese restaurant and gorged on the all-you-can-eat buffet. On the way out, we passed the box where you can help yourself to an after dinner fortune cookie.

"Just one," I reminded the kids.

"Awwww," whined Hunter, the nine year old.

"Awwww," I mimicked back.

Reaching in for just one, Hunter whimpered, "But one is the loneliest number."

Well played, boo; well played.

He still only got to take one cookie. But he delighted me with his comedic timing charmed me proving that he does remember and enjoy our musical adventures.

I'm guessing the fact that we all laughed and told him how funny he is was even more satisfying than those additional cookies would have been anyway.

Why Tinsel Is As Beloved, By Me, As Easter Grass

As the holidays are here, and tree decoration is near, I would like to remind you not to use tinsel. This is not only true if you have cats (or other pets), but because tinsel, though no longer made of metal, remains an attractive magnetized material and with all that holiday visiting you or someone else is bound to bring tinsel into my home. I live in fear of such things.

For tinsel is like Easter grass.

Let me regale you with just how lovely that is with this previously published post (from a long defunct site); each time you read 'Easter Grass' substitute it with 'tinsel'. I clear my throat, and we begin...

One of my Easter pet peeves, one that actually involves pets, is the use of plastic Easter grass. More annoying than pine needles which do not seem to have been effectively removed until Easter, this pastel grass is coveted by cats & kittens everywhere. I've long banished the crap from my house, but this is the time of year when I must explain to well-intentioned grandparents and great grandparents why I have done so. And yet I must never ever tell the truth of it all. You, dear lucky blog reader, will now hear the unvarnished truth.

When a feline finds this plastic 'grass' it is compelled to not only carry it of to some corner of the house that is impossible to find, and therefore vacuum, but the creature must indulge in eating it. One strand at a time. Far worse than the weekly finding of yet another pastel fiber on the carpet (most embarrassing in June and November when the in-laws stop in unannounced), the consumption of this material does not involve actual digestion.

This means that cats poop the silly stuff in one long string of pastel plasticness.

This does not mean that it will be contained to the litter box.

Instead, what happens is that it sticks out of feline rectum, at least a good 4 inches, ensuring that you see it. It is at this point that you, as the human owned by the cat, must grab the bull by the horns, or the ass by its grass, and pull it out, thus removing it from the cat's digestive tract.

While it is clear to both you and the cat that you must pull it out, the cat is reluctant. One can only imagine what it feels like to have an additional 4-8 inches of 'string' (that does in fact progress past the rectum into bowels and perhaps intestines) pulled out of one's ass... It must feel an awful lot like the look on a cat's face: uncomfortable & surprising.

Given that the cat has hoarded 10-30 pieces of grass, this is a problem which presents itself on many occasions. Being that is it the problem of a cat, it's timing will be at the least convenient for you as a human, such as at dinner time, when company is over (whom I already eye suspiciously when they enter just in case a piece of the damn stuff is stuck to their clothing), when children are watching (and way more curious than seems natural), when you were in the mood for more erotic actions with a partner... It's such a mood killer that I am hard-pressed to think of a time when it would be convenient.

This whole Easter grass problem is reason number 3 on why my cats are not allowed outside. For if there's a single piece blowing in the wind -- and you know there is because you see them built into bird's nests, wound around brush, in your garden and blowing past you on the front porch -- my cats will find it and eat it. And I will have to 'rectify' the situation.

So let me speak to all of you and say this: Stop using the damn Easter grass. Let the free market dictate the collapse of this part of the holiday market, putting an end to its creation. Let me be finally free from this whole damn mess.

So, for gawd's sake, lay off the darn tinsel!

Menstruation Is The Blood That Keeps Misogyny Alive

I was shocked to discover that girls aren't allowed to bring purses into their classrooms in the middle school our daughter attends. How stupid. This is the time when girls are first getting their periods and suffering from all the anxiety that it brings in our culture where menstruation is the blood that keeps misogyny alive.

Maybe it's not part of a plot to further ridicule young women, or even a plan to bail out financially failing schools by forcing females to pay for pads and tampons in those restroom vending machines; the official excuse is that for safety reasons, purses, like backpacks, are forbidden from classrooms. This may sound sane to some of you (the sorts of folks who would argue with Cevin Soling's The War On Kids). But it ignores basic biology. And such discrimination fosters all those fears and discomforts which lead to men who can neither purchase pads nor push a cart with tampons in it.

You might be surprised to discover that your school system has just such a stupid policy. If so, I urge you to contact your schools and point out the errors of their so-called pragmatic thinking.

Some schools do not prohibit young ladies from carrying purses, just regulate purse size. If so, consider coordinating a Small Purse Drive for schools serving low income students as Mocha Momma is doing. If you do so, please feel free to leave your link &/or information in the comments section so that others can donate their small purses for students in need. As incentive, I offer Mocha Momma's account of what is happening as those donated purses come in.

Bonding Over Cat Hair & The Adventures Of Raising Banana Girl

Out walking the mall I spotted several cute things at the local Hallmark shop, and when I took a picture of this mug, I thought I'd post it at Kitschy Kitschy Coo.


But then, in looking for a link to the mug maker's site (Our Name Is Mud), I discovered the blog (Our Name Is Blog) of Lorrie Veasey, the creative force behind the designs. And I got lost in her post Our Name Is Blog: OuR SCHooL iS CHooL, in which she tries to get her children, Complicated Boy and The Banana (aka The Spawn), into a private school. After Complicated Boy was rejected, they tried again:

So we pinned our hopes on The Banana to pave the way into a fine institution of learning. Except the actress Molly Shannon was present in our group interview, and while we had all been told beforehand to dress our children in casual playclothes, her ginger haired daughter arrived in A Red Sequined Dress. RED SEQUINS. So nobody noticed when Banana created an exact replica of the Parthenon in the block area. Everybody was looking at Molly Shannon to see if she would smell her armpits, and when they weren't looking there they were looking at THE RED SEQUIN DRESS. We didn't get in there either.

Smitten I am; Veasy isn't a one-mug-wonder of amusement.

I then thought I'd write this all up at Kitsch Slapped because of the pop culture craziness... And how I now feel the need to go back and buy the "Everything Tastes Better With Cat Hair In It!" mug simply because I now feel somehow bonded to its creator -- over parenting. (Somehow it makes sense to me... To enjoy my cat-hair infested beverage, sipping and remembering that time my friend Lorrie told me that story of trying to get her kids into private school.)

But then I realized that this here blog has been rather ranty lately and maybe you'd all enjoy a good grin (perhaps a hearty chuckle too).

Plus, I can then remind you all why this blog often gets ignored: I'm busy writing elsewhere. All. The. Time.

But I wasn't too busy to ignore Lorrie Veasey's request to sign the petition to help The Spawn of Veasey's school. You aren't either. So sign it.