< Upheaval: February 2007

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Not quite Everest, but high enough

Dillon is a climber. He climbs on furniture, the fireplace, stepstools, his toybox - anything.

He is usually really smart about getting down, too. He lays on his belly, and scoots off backwards, feet first, so he doesn't get hurt. In fact, he is quite fanatical about his dismount. If he is on a large object (like our king-sized bed) he lays on his tummy right in the middle and scoots backward, grunting and fighting the covers, and checking behind him to see how close he is, till he gets to the edge.

Here is a picture of him scooting off my parent's back patio. This is not a forward crawl - it is a backward scoot! Note that the drop is about two inches, and he began his dismount about seven feet from the edge:

girls visit 064
So, this morning, when he climbed onto the scale in the bathroom as I was showering, I didn't think much of it. But he stayed. And stayed. And whined. And stayed. And finally started crying.
There was no way he could lay down to scoot off, and he was too afraid to step off. So he cried. (Don't worry, baby. That scale makes me cry, too.)
I think we have found the perfect place to put him for "time out!"

Friday, February 23, 2007

Grand Central

I had high hopes for last night. Dillon and I were going to play outside while it was still light. We were going to come in and have a frozen pizza for dinner. Then he was going to have a bath and he would go to bed early, to catch up on sleep from Wednesday, when he stayed up late.

I was going to get in my pajamas and catch up on American Idol, and then go to bed early, too. Daniel was working.

That isn't what happened. We did play outside, but when we came in to cook dinner, my plans vanished before my eyes.

First, Paul came over. He was selling something, and I had to gear up to say "NO!" in my firmest voice. I am not the best at turning people away. He wanted to be social, and ask me about my job. I told him what I do, cause I love talking about what I do. So, I fell for his first trap, and was pinned at the door for 20 minutes while my frozen pizza burned in the oven.

I finally got rid of him, sending him on down the street. I pulled the pizza out of the oven, and heard another knock on the door.

It was my mom. We visited for a few minutes as I cut the pizza and got ready to feed Dillon.

Then there was another knock on the door. My neighbor Laura walked in, and my mom excused herself and left.

Laura stayed for almost an hour, while Dillon and I ate the middle part of the pizza. She had come by to complain about Paul, who came to her house and told her that I had sent him after buying two magazine subscriptions. Liar, liar...

About 40 minutes after Laura got here, there was a knock on the front door. In ran the twin girls of a friend of ours, shouting about Girl Scout Cookies and claiming that I owed them $21. They began playing with all of Dillon's toys.

Laura excused herself and left.

The twins dad staggered in behind them, holding six boxes of cookies. The girls (they are 6) were riding on Dillon's push car and rocking horse. They were pushing all the buttons on his play table.

Dillon was in the corner making room in his colon for dinner.

The phone rang. "I'll call you back!" I said immediately into the receiver when I answered it.

I wrote a check for the cookies, said goodbye to the girls, and checked the clock.

Dillon was late for bed! Ha!

We rushed to take a bath, then we read two stories instead of the usual three. He stretched out his arms for his crib, and I laid him down, where he promptly fell asleep.

Finally, a free moment! But I had someone to call back. So, I did that, quickly, cause I hate talking on the phone anyway.

Then I settled down to watch last week's AI. The phone rang again, prompting a twenty minute conversation. Please see the last paragraph for my true feelings about the telephone.


I turned the television off, cleaned the kitchen, took a bath and went to bed. Late.

At least it is Friday, right?

Wednesday, February 21, 2007


Last year, I blogged a tiny bit about Flight of the Conchords. That was before my obsession with YouTube. During my chore time today, I procrastinated by watching a couple of videos. These things make me LAUGH.

Don't tell me you can watch them without cracking up! This one is totally true for old married folks. HA!

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Dog Sitting

I am keeping my brother's puppy while he is out of town this weekend. My brother insists that I refer to Dixie as "Dillon's cousin." So, Dillon's cousin is precious, but still a puppy - jumpy and barky and excited and still-thinks-she-can-get-on-the-couch.

It has been quite traumatic for Dillon.

When I got Dixie home yesterday, I put her inside with Dillon and Tux (our dog). I ran out to the car to grab her bed, and returned after just a few seconds. Tux stood by the door looking like a four-year-old tattle tale: "Uh-oh, Mom. You are not going to believe what they are doing! But I was being good! I was! So, can I have Dixie's treats?"

I could hear Dillon faintly:

"DOHG! Unnnngggh. DOHG! *gasp* Unnnnngggh!"

I rounded the corner in the kitchen to see Dillon face down on the floor. Dixie stood ON TOP OF him, two feet on his shoulders, two feet on his bottom.

And it has just gone downhill from there.

It has become a struggle for survival around here. Dillon heads to his high chair to have a snack - Dixie railroads him and gives him carpet burn on his ear. Dillon gets out his blocks to have a few moments of peace - Dixie takes off with his blocks and a small piece of Dillon's hand. Dillon, cranky, crawls into my lap for some comforting - Dixie licks his open eyeball, making him wail in frustration.

But Dillon is adapting.

He clings to furniture as he cruises the room, nervously surveying the area. When he finally gets up the nerve to let go to get from point A to point B, he runs as fast as he can, shrieking as he goes. He has taken to pushing his walker around as extra support. I even caught him crawling across the kitchen floor this morning, and he hasn't crawled in months. Hey, it makes sense. Not as far to fall.

Dixie goes home tomorrow. I am sure Dillon will be relieved. For about 12 seconds. Then I will hear an endless round of "Wizzy dohg?? DOHG! Dohg! Wizzy DOHG?" because he will miss his cousin when she goes.


One year ago, it was all about Men's Strangest Sport.

Do yamin it?

Check this song out. Ignore the fake clapping and the background vocals, and just listen to Elliot. He is actually decent. I think most of the ex-Idols have a hard time finding their sound, but I think he is good.

What do you think?

Monday, February 12, 2007

Take two

NOW, what do you think?

Saturday, February 10, 2007


This is a story on one of my students. It was filmed in my classroom yesterday morning - I had a meeting and avoided the camera. I thought I would share, cause these are such special kiddos, and I love 'em! Now, go eat some pancakes!

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

What do you think?

Is it hard to read? Too dark? Too busy? Is it the greatest thing you have ever seen?

Feedback, people. We. Need. Feedback.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

A mother's look

On Monday afternoons, I have the pleasure of teaching a really sweet kid who just needs a little extra help. Like a lot of autistic kids, he struggles with understanding emotions, building relationships and effectively communicating.

We work on all of those things, and he has gotten so much better over the year that I have known him.

Yesterday, he was reading me a story, which I know is a very frustrating activity for him.

We sat on the floor, and the story started out smoothly. He got to a word that stumped him, and he thrust the book at me: "You read it!" he said.

I told him that I wanted to hear him read.

His lip stuck out and he furrowed his brow. "No! I have getting so MAD AT YOU!"

"That's okay. I will wait for you to calm down. Do you need help with that word?"

"NO! You blockhead! I am want YOU to read!" (Verbal abuse is an added bonus to my profession, and he obviously likes Charlie Brown.)

"Hmmm... how about I read this page, and then you read?"

"Okay," he said, happy again.

When it came to his turn, he bugged his eyes out and tightened his throat: "I say NO! I am going to tell my mama and YOU GO HOME!" he shouted.

I saw his mom peek around the corner at us. She raised an eyebrow, and I winked to let her know that I had a handle on it. She slipped back around the corner, but not soon enough.

My little friend caught a glimpse of her, and stopped mid-shout. He said, "I mean, NEVERMIND! Come here, you!" and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. "You wanna animem cookie?"

Uh, I think he understood HER emotions pretty well, quickly surmised their relationship, and followed up with great communication. Lesson learned.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

The annoying thing about the Super Bowl

One of the most annoying things about the Super Bowl is the commentator's constant need to make everything a RECORD.

The game is annual. The matchups are different almost every year. Groups of people all over the country are gorging themselves on sausage balls and cheese dip as they crowd into a living room and shout at the television. It will be a historical game. Perhaps not memorable, but definitely something you can google several years down the line and get some info on.

But they still try to make it more special.

"You know, this is the first Super Bowl where both teams had someone named 'Dan!'"

"This is the wettest Super Bowl since the game in '78. It rained 1/8 of an inch more then. But this one is a close second!"

"If Team A wins tonight, it will be only the third time EVER that a team from the west beat a team from the east."

"This has to be the longest quarter in NFL history! I know cause I have had to hold my pee, and I lost control about thirty seconds ago! I can usually make it a whole quarter."

That, and the commercials are pretty lame. Since when does a movie promo qualify as a Super Bowl commercial? Aren't they screened for content, or do they just take the money and let them do whatever they want? Sheesh.