Anyone going to the Green Our Vaccines march in DC on the fourth?  I wish I could go, but Ro’s Dad is going out of town. 

Anyway, it’s starting to catch on…I am less of a quack mother every day now!  Yay!

Oh, yes, that’s the best way to teach the child!

What world do I freakin’ live in?  This baby is five years old.  They voted the child out of the class, “Survivor” style – to “teach him” that his behavior was alienating.  Umm, FIVE, people, he’s FIVE!,2933,358956,00.html
At the other end of the spectrum, my 5 year-old literally bloodied his teacher in a tantrum early this year.  He was not voted out of Kindergarten.  Instead, the principal discreetly approached me to say that Ro had a hard time that afternoon, and maybe I should walk down to his class to pick him up, instead of the usual wait to sign out procedure. 
When I got to his room, his teacher, bless her soul, had band-aids and scratches in various places –
“It’s okay, it happens sometimes!”  That was her response when she saw my horror-filled expression.
“He’s been so good all year!”
I was cursing myself, because I knew it had to do with the multivitamin I slipped in his hemp milk the night before.  Whenever I give him a multivite, he reacts like this, but he had just gotten over a virus where he wasn’t eating much, so I thought I would try to give the hypoallergenic multi a chance again.  Obviously, no go.  We worked with his GI doc, and we have decided to just stick to food sources for nutrition, no supplements.  He’s just too sensitive.
Anyway, we are lucky that we have found such great, understanding and nurturing educators. 
It breaks my heart to read about what this poor baby has had to go through, due to the ignorance of these fools. 
Someone needs to vote her off of job island. 
Mama will be the first to sign that petition. 

OOOHHHH, That’s Why!!!

Now I remember!  This is the root of my bald man fascination!  My sister and I thought it was because we have so many bald men in our family.  We do, so I think that is somewhat of a small percentage of why I need to chase after a lot of bald men, but really, REALLY, this is 97% of the reason for my fettish. 

Welcome to my first love.  And I mean, from when I was a toddler.  I was one of those little girls who really loved men, and this was my first crush…

Dayum, he still hot!

Still alive, but T. T. (Too Tired)

I haven’t posted much of late.  I started, and quickly enough, stopped working at a local 24-hour fitness center doing overnights.  10-6.  I thought this would give me time to spend with Ronan and The Loudon, then get in some great money-making hours, along with some much needed working out!

I imagined running on the treadmill all night, doing 4 or 5 cycles of the 30-minute circuit training, not having to deal with the rush of customers (people- never my favorite), and packing away some good cash!  I would be skinny and fit again by July, with my wallet fat!

Only, it went like this…

Mama tired.

Too tired.

t. t.

Too tired to even say too tired.

Also, everyone kept asking me if I was nervous about being in this all-access gym that is hidden behind big warehouse-type buildings in the middle of the night, with the doors open for anyone to walk in – members or not.  Bundy or not.  Dahmer or not.

I wasn’t, because my boss assured me that the “cleaning crew” would be there all night.  I would never be alone in the building!  Sweet!

Only it went like this…

A cop came into the gym at around 11:00 on my second night alone.  He was shocked that my employers had no safety measures in place and that I was there all night by myself.  I wasn’t worried before, it’s a little town with not much crime, but now…HEY!  Now, I’m starting to get paranoid.  Thanks Mr. Police Officer.

He goes on and on about how unsafe and irresponsible it is to have me there with no security cameras, behind a building- in fact he came up into the gym because he saw a suspicious truck pulling behind the warehouses.  He had no idea there was a 24-hour fitness center back there.  Oh, but stalkers and lunatics would find out and eventually trail in, he kindly informs me.  Thank you Mr. Police Officer.

“Why is the door unlocked?  Anyone can walk in!  They should have the doors locked and a members-only keypad entrance.  Even then, a member could be crazy and nobody would hear you if he decided to kill you.”

Then, he says he’ll send officers to periodically patrol the building, but they can’t babysit me all night, and anyone could still attack me.

Then he leaves me alone!

Thanks Mr. Police Officer.  Thank you very much.

I sit in the window facing the parking lot like a damn starved eagle scanning desperately for a wounded animal to drop.  Forget about the lunatic coming in to get me, because I think one look at my cracked-out eyes bugging out of my head while I paced like a schizophrenic would have even Bundy saying, “Damn, I gots to get me away from this woman-freak, fast!!”

The cleaning “crew” – consisting of Blanca and her sometimes-present husband, came in at 11:40 and left at 12:40.  Hmm.  Mama was alone ALL NIGHT LONG imagining Ted Bundys and Jeffrey Dahmers -wait, not Dahmer, he didn’t like my flavor- umm, The Manson Women – no, I think I could have probably taken them down with some dumbbells – Freddy Kreuger!  No, I’m awake all night, and he only comes when you sleep – umm, SATAN!  No, too mythical.  All right, just Bundy.  He’s scary enough, even dead, because he looked like the paper boy.  And nothing’s scarier than a maniacal paper boy.

Anyway, at around 2:00am, after much pacing, biting nails and heart palpitations, the door (which is down two flights of stairs so that you can’t see who is coming up. I didn’t mention that yet, did I? Yeah.) opens up.  Someone is coming to kill me.  My life is over.  My kids are going to read about my fitness-center death in newspaper clippings.  Yay.

True to my probably stereotypical imaginings, up walks the biggest, baldest, menacing-looking biker you have ever seen (sorry bald bikeys, no offense- I love bald men,  honestly, see my Powder post).

Oh, great. My last minutes.  Fabulous.  Well, at least my sons will have an almost-Mom twin in my sister, their Auntie – who is much more organized and Mom-like than me anyway, so maybe it will work out for them…

I digress.

“Can I open up a membership?  I work the late shift, and I just got out of work!  I can’t believe you’re open 24 hours! This is so convenient for me and my wife!”

A little pee comes out.  Yes, unfortunately, ever since I gave birth to the over 9 pound Loudon, I have a little nervous incontinence issue going on.  You try carrying that thing for nine months and then holding your pee when you are about to die.  It was just a little tiny piddly anyway.

I can’t hear what my killer is saying, because I am just inching over to the emergency EXIT door with a fake smile on my face.  I am nodding like a Geisha.

“Do you have any paperwork that I have to fill out?”

I give him the forms, and then miraculously, I explain them to him with someone else’s voice – all the while, I am plotting my counter-attack.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t kill me.  He leaves with his membership tag.

However, I am almost dead from my high blood pressure.

It was a long sleepless night, and the next day I resigned.

My blood pressure has finally come down into the range where they won’t immediately admit me into the ER.  I don’t have to wear Depend undergarments.  I slept last night.  During the night.

And at 2:00am, when I was stalked by another male – well, it was just my small boy who never sleeps.

And he didn’t kill me either.

But this lack of sleep might!

T. T. !!!!!

NO!! Ya Think?

Get away from THAT boy!!!

It’s always a challenge trying to police The Loudon out in public, with his very spirited self, even when it’s just the two of us, but Ronan had a half-day today, so we all decided to go to the playground together.

I am whipping my head back and forth between the two boys at a very busy park.  They inevitably want to do the opposite –  Loudon is at one end, pushing a big truck into unsuspecting ankles, and Ronan is climbing up a structure 500 feet away, unaware of toddlers trying to avoid being crushed by his 60 lb. boy body flying up and over them.

Ronan gets to the top and spies a firefighter pole.  He is fascinated with watching kids slide down this.  I think partly because he is still a little too afraid to try it himself, and somewhat due to the fact that he is eye-stimming with the movement – he’s always loved a descending object!

Anyway, he is doing an incredible job of using his words, asking kids in his “loud” voice if they can slide down it for him.

“KIDS!  Can you slide down this!?”

No response from the children running by.

“KIDS!  Can you slide down!?”

One girl says “no”.

Ronan tries another.

“KIDS!  Can you please slide down this thing?!”

The girl running by doesn’t answer, so he tugs at her shirtsleeve.

Not in a menacing way, just in a “can I get your attention kind of way”.

I yell up, “Ronan.  Hands to yourself.  Use your words please, and if you need help, ask Mom”.

The father of this child then screams, “KATRINA!  GET AWAY FROM THAT BOY NOW!!!!!”

Hmm.  Okay, I see the other side.  I’m open to other people’s feelings.  Please, hands off my kid, yeah I get that, but is this screeching really necessary?  I mean, Ronan doesn’t have an Uzi or anything.  He is six.

Mean Dad shoots me a look to kill, and I contemplate telling him the “autism” story.  Then, I see the frost in his eyes, and I say, “Screw Mean Daddy – unsympathetic bastard.”  I say nothing instead and just picture lightning bolts shooting from the sky into his pea brain and down through to his hooves.

Two minutes later, I am instructing Loudon in the potential harm of bringing a dump truck up the slide stairs, which of course, ensues in a major tantrum.  Don’t mess with The Loudon.  He lashes out at anything around when he’s pissed, and what happens to be around is the little sister of Ronan’s shirtsleeve girl – Mean Daddy’s other daughter!!  Loudon SMACKS at her! 

This sends Mean Daddy into a tizzy!  But we are out of the playground in a flash – a sly half-smile on my fleeing face. 

 Karma, baby, Karma – it’s a bitch.


 **Note, no little sisters were hurt in this Karmic display.   I would never really wish harm on an innocent child – maybe just a little graze on her Mean Daddy, though, would be okay**

A SLice of autism

Our apartment is covered with paper. Blank sheets, 8 1/2 X 11 drawings in various media, recycled bits and fragments tossed here and there – it’s like a mill!

Ronan must draw roughly 200 pieces a day, and I have a hard time narrowing down what we will post for prints, etc.

This particular drawing stood out. It’s a mismash of things Ronan encounters every day, along with imaginary words and made up characters. Rest assured though, all have a back story and meaning – you just have to ask him! : )

I imagine if you took a slicing, or image, of a CAT scan of Ronan’s brain, it would look somewhat like this- except maybe in color! : )

This would look great in a black and white themed room.

Very graffiti art!

We are offering it as a 5X7 print, but if you matted and framed it, wouldn’t it would look fantastic as an 8×10 piece of art!

Find it and buy it now at:

10% of this sale donated to autism education.

Thanks for your support!


So, we found out about TOPSoccer, and Ronan is liking it so far!  It’s a program for players with special needs.  They have high school volunteers that give 1:1 coaching to the kids.  Look at Ro playing with an oversized ball!

Not that he needs it.  When he was a baby, he used to maneuver a single Cheerio around the house with his big toe.

He can bend it like a bitch!

The Loudon of the Day

And it is a quote –

“Mom, you got your vagina?”

Yeah, Lowie, I have a vagina.

“You don’t have your penis anymore?”

Umm, I know I can be pretty butchy sometimes, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve always had the vagina, Lowie.

Get tickets to his Broadway debut in about 14.5 years.

And Now…

Still Delicious!






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