Who are you calling old?

We went to grab a bite at a local Mexican food joint the other night. It is our favorite place. They have free tortillas (My 'tillas! says Dillon), free chips and salsa, free ice cream, and free sopapillas. LOVE IT.

Our waiter was a cute girl, about 12 years old. NO! I am just exaggerating. She was probably 14. She admired Korenna, who was snoozing like an angel. Then she proceeded to tell me about HER SIX MONTH OLD BABY.

Excuse me?

When I picked myself up off the floor, she explained that she was nineteen, which isn't THAT old to have a baby.

Trying to recover, I said, "Oh, does your baby have your hair color?"

In the crazy light of the Mexican food joint, her hair looked carrot-top red.

She giggled and said, "No! I just did that, like, this morning! It didn't turn out how I wanted at all! But the name of the color was Red Hot Chili Pepper, which is a band, you know..."

I nodded, "Yeah! I know that band."

She said, "Oh, well, my mom had, like, no idea who they were!"

Ba-bum-BAH!

And that is how our cute fourteen-year-old waitress got no tip to take home to her baby. By equating me to her mother, when I am obviously youthful and NOT EVEN THIRTY YET!

Word's out

So, there is a bag somewhere missing a cat. I may as well tell you, too.

I am resigning from my job in May. That is a really big deal! I love teaching special ed, and I love all of my babies. I am really going to miss them so much! I get a knot in my throat just thinking about it.

But something good is coming, as well.

This fall, a friend and I are opening a school for kids with autism. Our community has limited resources and I feel like this is a need that our public school system just doesn't begin to meet. The closest clinic or school that specializes in autism is almost 100 miles away!

At the public school where I teach, next year, my class could potentially have 14 kids! With two teachers! Seriously!!! That means no one-on-one instruction and my job is reduced to nothing more than glorified babysitting. Opening my own school gives me control over class size. It allows me to circumvent the bureaucracy of public school. It allows me to participate in early intervention, instead of waiting until the child has floundered for three years with no services.

I know that this is what God wants me to do. I have never wanted to be a teacher for the money, but I do want to be able to contribute to my family, and I would like reasonable compensation for my work. So, I'm asking for your prayers. We need money. Funding. Donations. Grants. I am asking, but so far, we haven't gotten any answers.

So, what do you think? Suggestions? Ideas? Let me know. I'm open. And so is my wallet.

What soapbox?

So, Korenna's doctor and I have gone round and round, but I think I have won the overall fight. He agreed (pshaw) to let me set up my own shot schedule for her. Now maybe I won't have a full-blown anxiety attack when I am taking her for a well checkup, thinking the nurse is going to use her thighs as pin-cushions for her Toxin-Bearing-Needles-of-Destruction.

A little dramatic?

Maybe so.

I teach special ed. I deal with the casualties. I know that shots aren't 100% safe. You cannot convince me otherwise.

Last week, I took my 11 pound baby to the doctor, and the nurse said lightly, "OOooohhhh! We are getting some shots today!"

I said, "How many?"

She consulted her little computer chart, and said, "Hmmm... looks like four today. Oh, wait. Nope... five."

FIVE.

Seriously? No thanks. I just spent nine months watching what I ate. I just spent nine months not drinking margaritas. I just spent nine months with severe allergies and lung infections because I chose not to medicate unneccesarily. We are not going to blow all of that because some stuff-suit at the American Academy of Pediatrics thinks she might get Hepatitis B in her first year of life. (She won't, cause she isn't sexually active and she doesn't use intravenous drugs.)

She's gonna get all of her shots. She will be totally caught up by the time she is 2. I would never jeopardize her health! I am just not doing it the way THEY want me to.

If you are a new mama, or an old mama, or a grandmama, please be informed. This isn't just about autism. It is about ADHD. It is about seizure disorders. It is about a lifetime of gastrointestinal disease. It is about allergies and asthma.

You have a right to challenge your doctor. They will tell you all those shots are okay, cause that is what they are trained to tell you! But, you have a right to gain peace of mind.

For information and a revised shot schedule, go to www.generationrescue.org. I also have one available that I can email you based on Dr. Ken Bock's book, Healing the New Childhood Epidemics.

Most importantly, don't be afraid to ask questions. Knowledge is power, mmmkay?

Thanks for listening.

(Steps down. Puts soapbox back in closet for another day.)

Cold-hearted

Yesterday, I was fixing Dillon's breakfast, which means I was taking the wrapper off of his cereal bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flick by the microwave.

Let's think of some things that flick. I know one! Snakes.

Yeah, there was a snake flicking by the microwave. In my house.

I thought of rational things to do, then screamed and ran hysterically back to the bathroom where Daniel was enjoying a leisurely shower.

"There is a snake in the kitchen! By the microwave! I don't like it!"

Daniel looked at me, probably trying to figure out if I was STILL trying to April Fool's him. He decided that I wasn't and climbed out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

When we got back to the kitchen, he took control of the situation. "I can't see. Can you get my glasses?"

Dutifully, I sprinted back to the bathroom. Along the way, I stepped on Daniel's wet footprints in the hall and almost threw up in my mouth from revulsion - I was sure I had just stepped on a snake. I held down the heebie-jeebies and ran faster on the way back, glasses in hand.

"I am going to need a flashlight."

I headed for the laundry room where we keep a big red one, I guess for situations like this. Unfortunately, Dillon loves that flashlight and had left it on, draining the batteries.

"Go see if there is one in our room."

I ran back to our room again, watching the floor for reptiles, and found a tiny black flashlight that can burn out your retina from a mile away. (Policemen need stuff like this!)

He shone the light under the microwave and saw the snake. It had flicked its way back into the corner.

"I need a broom or something."

He chooses a time like this to clean??? I walked (not ran) into the laundry room and got him a broom. This fetching game was getting old, especially since he was just standing in the middle of the kitchen holding his towel up.

Thinking about the fact that he was just wearing a towel, I got a little concerned. If you have seen Snakes on a Plane, you know that it is a scientific fact that snakes tend to gravitate toward sexual organs. (Or maybe that just happens when the movie is particularly stupid.) Making sure he was well-covered, I handed him the broom.

Daniel poked at the snake till it flicked out from under the microwave, over the counter and behind the fridge. He then pulled the fridge out and stabbed repeatedly at the snake until he had obliterated its head.

My hero!

He swept it out from behind the fridge (I guess that is what the broom was for?) and into an empty Pringles can. I peeked inside and noticed that the snake had shrunk to the size of a large earthworm. Strange!

We agreed that it must have been a copperhead, and since there was no one there to tell us different, we are standing by our story. Don't you think that makes it more dramatic?

All I know is that the sudden hissing sound of rain on my windshield on the way to school made me gasp and made my heartbeat accelerate, and I am on the lookout for things that flick.