Happy Birthday, Mom!

The cake from Charles Street Bakery, with the image from the invitation on it.

This weekend was the surprise 80th birthday party for my mother. My brother had plans in the works for months, and the closer it got to the actual event, the more afraid I became of spilling the beans because with age it just seems harder to hold all the threads of the half-truths, lies and deceits that were told. What came easily in adolescence is much more difficult with the passing of thirty-some years.

The first lie was that my husband had a seminar at one of the DC-area universities so he was also coming down for the weekend. Most of the time it's just me and the little heathens making the trip. Next since the "seminar" was work-related, there could be a hotel room for us - necessary because my mother's cousin was coming into town from Florida for the party, so she would be moving from the hotel to Mom's guest room on Saturday so it would not have been a good idea to have my little army invade for a night and then decamp for a hotel. Mom was already going to stress that her house was not ready for company, and so Hurricane Micah would need to make landfall elsewhere.

Second lie, if we're only going for the majors, we were going to be having lunch with Lorrie, my friend and former housemate, but it would need to be later in the afternoon because she had plans for the morning. This was the cover story for not going out until a little bit later than we usually do. I also said I wanted to go to the Blue Crabs' stadium to get t-shirts (a small truth amidst all of the fudging.) Then I mixed into that another falshood that I had spoken with my sister-in-law and she had said that there was an event at the stadium where they were giving away free passes to the children's play area. She wouldn't be able to go (another small truth, she had a class), but my brother and nephew would be going and they wanted extra passes so could we time our stadium trip to the time they would be there.

Meanwhile, after having dinner at Mom's Friday, we went back to the hotel and met up with Mina, Mom's cousin who came from Florida for the party. And the kids met her as well - now we had another cat that had to be kept bagged up. Fortunately Thea claimed she was so tired that she had already forgotten Mina's name.

Saturday morning Thea and I were up early to run errands; ATM machine, gas up the car, stop at the bakery to pay off the cake (which my brother had already done by the time we arrived at 8:10.) So we had croissants and went back to the Best Western to have breakfast with Mina, Steve and Micah before heading over to Mom's Saturday morning.

At Mom's we're making up our agenda for the day: SafewayBlue Crabs' stadium store, Kohl's, lunch with Lorrie. As we're getting ready I'm trying to stall a little bit because the longer I have to keep everyone in motion before our arrival at the stadium, the more likely it is that I am going to let the cat out of the bag.

Thea picked that moment to come unglued about not being able to play a round of Candyland at Oma's and she pitched a rather spectacular hissy-fit. Tear, recriminations, snot, more tears, all with major splashes of whining. This DID NOT help with plans to get on the road because my mother was not going to sit in the car with a fit-throwing child. So as Mom is getting ready and gathering up her stuff, I am hissing major threats in Thea's ears about what will happen if she blows the surprise.

I tossed both kids in the car with a few more threats heaped on Thea's head and went in to tell Mom that everything was fine. By the time she ambled out to the car, everything was not fine, we were on to Round #2 of Tears/Snot/Recriminations, but by then I was hissing at my mother that SHE wasn't going to make me go through this alone, so she'd better get her butt in the car. NOW.

It is now 12:40 pm. The stadium is about five minutes from Mom's house. I am starting to sweat, because even with a stop at the SunTrust ATM at Safeway, we have time on our hands. Time the guests need to find their way to the party suite. Fortunately Thea is almost back to her pre-hissy fit state after being allowed to go with me to the ATM and punch in the PIN, etc.

So we head to the stadium, and instead of taking the ever so convenient back roads, I take Route 301. As we are heading about half way to the turn off, the lightbulb goes off: Mom, do you think that the White Plains post office still might have the Lunar New Year stamps? (And you thought that I wasn't going to mention LNY again until 2010!) So we pulled in to the post office: Closed as of 12 noon. Then Mom comes up with the idea to try the Waldorf post office. Genius! It will take at least ten minutes to get there, a few minutes in the post office, and ten minutes back. Amen, problem solved. Further erosion of my newborn ulcer averted.

Except that my mother knew that I bought quite a few sheets of LNY stamps during our last trip. So add another lie to the pot, there are fewer stamps per sheet (true) and I've used them up. (I did use a couple of sheets to mail out the invitations to her surprise party, but I still have at least three or four.) At the post office, again I let Thea come with me, because she's gotten her act together so I need to enlist her help at the stadium and heap a little praise on her head to do my bidding at when we get to crunch time. We also bought two more sheets of LNY stamps - and with rates going up again in May 2009, I will probably be buying one- or two-cent stamps to be able to use them all up.

Now we head to the stadium. It's a gray, cool, drizzly day. The weather was not festive in the least. So when we arrive in the parking lot there are a few cars - which does give it the appearance of something going on. I pull in and swing wide through the lot not knowing how much (or little) my mother would pay attention to the other cars there (cousins with NC plates, more cousins with Virginia plates, a set of Pennsylvania plates, her neighborhood friends' cars).

I'm ready to head in and get this over with. Let's shout SURPRISE and be done. Let Karl take over responsibility for Mom as the organizer and host of the party. Someone, buy me a drink.

But we are talking about my mother. "You go and find out where this thing is, because I am not getting out this car just to wander aimlessly through the stadium." So I go out on the reconnaisance mission.

Thea and I trot out into the drizzle right as one of my mother's friends is coming up the other part of the sidewalk. I am hoping that my mother is chatting with Micah and not looking in the rear view or side view mirrors or we're screwed right as we're heading to the finish line.

We stop into the stadium office, a staff member points us out to a suite along the third base line, the friend goes off to join the guests and Thea and I head back to the car to get Oma and Micah. And Micah is out cold, fast asleep. Nice. I have to fold up the lump and stuff him into the umbrella stroller.

So Micah gets unceremoniously plunked in his stroller and Oma gets to push him (versus using her cane), and we make the trek back to the party suite.

Right as we're coming to the building, two ladies, one carrying a helium container (giving me the clue she's the person my brother made arrangements with to do the decorating) start heading our way. But she was on the ball when she saw my face, she comes up with, "Are you here for the coupons? They are SO disorganized, everyone's waiting around, I'm going off to have lunch and come back.) Nice cover story, promising future in covert ops if her party decorating sideline goes belly-up.

So we head in to the foyer area, Thea and I in the lead, Mom and the stroller-bound Micah bringing up the rear. The last thing I said to her before she got to the doorway was "Come on, Mom, I want to get in line!" Mom comes in, blows right by the giant banner with HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARGARET on it, says something like "Oh, look at all the balloons." Everyone yells SURPRISE and she still hasn't truly processed what was going on. You can almost hear the synapses firing in domino-like fashion. Since I was behind her I missed seeing her face as the lightbulb went off when she first took in everything.

There were old neighbors from when we lived in Hyattsville, there was her cousin from Florida, cousins from the Baltimore area, Aunt Mary, Donna and Bill from North Carolina, friends of hers who came all the way from Delaware, a friend whose mother worked with Mom's father, so many of her local friends this posting would go on forever it I tried to account for everyone. Even though I sent out the invitations, it was mind-blowing to see everyone there, so I know it was a huge surprise for Mom. Sometimes it doesn't take much to boggle her mind, and this did it and did it well. My brother did good, really, really big good.

Nothing like cake to cure a bad mood!

Meanwhile, it took most of the three-hour party for my stomach to completely unknot. When she turns 85, I'll pay for the party and my brother can concoct the stories needed to get her there.

Mom high-fiving it with the little cousins: Elise (2), Micah (3), Bailah (5) and Willi (3)

Evil Moments

Today we headed down the NJ Turnpike and on to my Mom's house. The kids were relatively good in the car, on minor spat with the obligatory whining, but otherwise a smooth trip. For variety we took a vote and decided to go through the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel instead of taking I-695 and the Key Bridge. Thea thought the tunnel was pretty cool stuff. Score one for Mommy.

Since the kids only had one break at the Chesapeake House rest stop, the first order of business was getting some running around time in before dinner. And my mother's neighbor's dog is the perfect source of some exercise. Thea loves walking Chelsea (or being walked by Chelsea) because of the retractable leash. We start out by going up and down the fire lane exit to my mother's development so that Chelsea's done her business before walking through the neighborhood.

We also give Micah a chance to 'walk' Chelsea by putting him in the umbrella stroller and clipping the leash into the seat belt. Then Thea holds the back of the stroller so Chelsea (who is a Boston Terrier) doesn't take Micah on a wild ride. Though sometimes I think she loosens her grip on the handles to see what might happen.

OK, so that's the preamble and set up for the actual story. The three of us are heading back into my mother's little townhouse community with a dog that has done her business so thoroughly that there couldn't be a drop left in her if her bladder were wrung out like a sponge.

We start off down the little court, Micah and the stroller have the leash, I'm trying to keep Chelsea from running like a lunatic into the street because Micah has no grasp of how the retractable leash works. Pun intended. We pass a townhouse where a little Yorkie is at the storm door looking out, Chelsea spots her and makes a dash across the lawn to see the little yapping scrap of bad shag carpeting.

Then Yorkie owner comes to her door and tells us to keep 'our' dog off her lawn. With the little yapping provocateur right there. As I had just come from four hours in a car trying to keep two kids happy, I was not in the best of moods, so I just snapped and said, "Oh, get over it." Thea looked at the lady and said, "Yeah." And we kept walking.

Considering my employment history includes two years working in the NJ prison system "oh, get over it" is fairly tame. Nevertheless I immediately felt guilty because I don't want to cause problems for my mother.

After we finished the walk we returned Chelsea to her owner, and I had to ask her who lives at 203. And it turns out that the person I snapped out at is the neighborhood busybody who everyone in this little community despises for numerous and varied reasons. The infamous CeCe. I have hear so many CeCe stories, and I do remember a lady with a Yorkie stuffed under her arm barging in when Mom's neighbor was being treated by the paramedics and readied for transport to the local hospital. (Just what one wants is in the middle of a medical emergency to have someone come nosing around, and with her ratty little mutt, too.)

So after a brief discussion with Dorothy as to whether my mother has any inkling about her surprise birthday party (another vote for 'no'), I hightailed it back to Mom's to tell her about our encounter.

Needless to say, my stock in my mother's eyes rose and she was wishing she'd come out on the walk with us. . . .

And I'm glad we're at the hotel tonight. Mom's guest room faces the street, and I'd rather not be sleeping there when the Molotov cocktail a la CeCe gets lobbed through the window.

And while I'm on the subject of sharing what a horrible person I am, here's another foot-in-mouth-via-email moment:

The set up for this story is that Micah's ENT said last May that we would proceed with a CT scan after he turned three. Our only contact with him since that visit was via email to ask him for a letter supporting Micah's second BAHA (which he responded to in something under a nanosecond and had the letter sent out within a day or so of the request. He rocks.)

So I called the office on Wednesday to set the wheels in motion for the CT scan. And was told that we need to make an appointment for an office visit first. Whatever for? Until Dr. Choe has the CT scan results, another appointment is a waste of his time and ours. But I made an appointment anyway, and then emailed the doctor (who I was told was on vacation this week, but I figured it would be in his email in-box when he got back next week).

This is what I wrote:

"Thank you for your help with Micah's second BAHA; he is doing amazingly well and is now at Summit Speech School for its full-day preschool program for just under one month. I called the Englewood office today to ask about setting up the CT scan for Micah. The staff member I spoke with said that we would need to make an appointment first. I had been hoping that we could begin to make arrangements for the CT scan, and then follow up with you after you had had the opportunity to review the results. I attempted to explain that other than being a year older, a bit taller, a few pounds heavier and much more verbal, his atresia is unchanged. (She had asked,"How is Micah feeling?" which struck me as a slightly odd question; he's three years old, and blissfully unaware that he's any different than anyone else, atresia is his version of normal.)"

It's not all that bad,really, except that the doctor in his response to me saying we did not need to come in for an appointment until after the CT scan, also CC:'d the message to his medical assistant and asked her to pull Micah's chart and put it on his desk, with all of my entire message forwarded with his response. Ouch. The front desk staff is going to hate me, at least one of them is.

And he responded within a few hours of my sending the message to him. So much for his vacation, time to back away from the computer. Dr. Choe. . . . .

Weekend

We're heading down to Maryland again. My brother has arranged a surprise 80th birthday party for my mother (whose birthday is next Thursday). I got to help with the easy stuff: the invitations, making arrangements for flowers, paying for the cake, buying disposable cameras. I've been avoiding talking to my mother for about a month now - we're down to once a week from our usual three, sometimes four, times a week. I'm too afraid that I'll let something slip.

Micah's out of school today; Thea will be paroled at noon, if I've gotten packed up and the car is loaded. We have to come back Sunday night because both of them have appointments with Dr. Andy the dentist on Monday morning at 8:30 am, and if I cancel it's months for a double slot.

Not much to write about. . .

Boring weekend. Worked Saturday AM. Wrote my charts Saturday afternoon. Laundry, laundry and more laundry. Grocery shopping. The nice part, if there can be a nice part of working this weekend, is that I wasn't on call.

Thea brought home her report card on Friday. If the last one was fantastic, she's taken it to the next level - both with her grades and with working on the areas she needed to improve on (not getting frustrated when she raises her hand and is not called upon; waiting to hear the end of the question before trying to answer.) My fear was that by third grade, I would be too inept to help her with her homework. My new fear is that this will now happen by first grade.

Meanwhile, Thea actually finished her homework today, a new development since I've been finding it the morning it's due and she's been completing it before being taken to school. Bonus.

Meanwhile I did manage to get a few things around the house, and I took all the stuff that came out of the linen closet (and didn't go back in) to Goodwill. I'd love to have it all organized and sell it at the community yard sale in June, but I like just having it gone, gone, gone.

Next Micah's closet and all the babyish toys that no one has touched for eons. I'm doing a slow crawl through the house, heading for the garage.

On the down side, while I was driving home from work I found the coolest slant-top school desk put out on Nassau Street. It's heavy, and it had the original glass inkwell in it. The chair that accompanied it to the curb wasn't in as good shape - a bit crack in the seat that might not be fixable. I want to clean it up and either paint or refinish it for Thea and Micah to use. Junk goes out, junk comes in.

Half & Half

Today was a day off from work, but with my faithful sidekick home from school the chances of acccomplishing more than doing laundry and clearing the debris field he makes were pretty slim. So I decided to just enjoy the day rather than mentally inventory all the things around the house that I should be doing.

First we took Thea to school and stayed there for about an hour. Thea's English teacher is expecting a baby in May and, thanks to knowing a quilt-making genius who took my idea for a quilt with all the students' names and expanded on it (and made it both better and easier) who made 70 or so squares of fabric that were somehow stuck onto freezer paper and had an shape traced onto them for the signatures, we are now in the process of getting all the students and all the teachers to sign a block. The mission this morning was to get the upper grades and the kindergarteners out of the way. The preschoolers and pre-Ks at the other campus did there part earlier in the week, so now we're left with getting teachers and the few part-time children finished off before next weekend. I was really surprised at how neatly most of the children wrote - and Thea had to add her own spin on hers, using her full name instead of just a first name or first name and Chinese name.

Then Micah and I went into Princeton to the jeweler's. A pair of earrings my parents gave me the year my father died has a pearl that had somehow lost its nacre, so I wanted to see how much to replace it. Unfortunately today was the jeweler's day off so I just had to leave them there. Now I feel like part of my ears are missing, those earrings are just always on (which is probably how the pearl got worn in the first place.)

At the jeweler's we had one of those "can I ask you a question?" moments, after another customer waiting had stared at Micah's head for a good five minutes or more. Not my day for feeling like the goodwill ambassador for microtia and atresia.

So the inquisitive lady got what is now becoming my standardized schtick, on fast forward. Bone conduction hearing aids. Not deaf. No ear canals. Surgery at a later date, if possible. On fast forward because Micah had emptied half of the store's candy dish into his hands and onto the floor, so it was time to beat a hasty retreat to Panera's for a snack. And since Micah selected a table near where a psychology graduate student was working, we got to go through the whole routine again.

By then our 48 minutes of parking meter time (right in front of the jewelry store and one of my best parallel parking attempts in ages, one move and in it went, I must brag) was up so we took off for Marquand Park for some playtime in the sand pit.

Once were were home from our excursions, I made lunch and got Micah down for a nap. And instead of just hanging out or joining him for the hap, I decided to take on the linen closet. This storage space hasn't been overhauled since some time prior to Thea's adoption - easily five years of steady neglect and accumulation.

Post-purge we still have towels, wash cloths and linens beyond our needs. And it will probably be another five years before I feel inspired enough to do that again. Next, either Micah's closet or the cabinets below the bathroom sinks.

So the day was half productive, half fun - and better than I'd hoped for.

Weekend Shearing, Etc.

Both my little sheep got shorn this weekend. Yesterday Thea and I stopped in to see Miss Flo at Snip-Its and Thea got a major trim (she wanted it short), and today it was Micah's turn. Fortunately we arrived at Snip-Its during a lull, so it was just Micah in the chair. I need to remember 3-4-8 - that's the numbers of the blades on the razor for his buzz cutt, 3 for the side walls, 8 for the front and 4 for the back. Now the BAHA band doesn't push Micah's hair up so that he looks like he just stuck his finger in the electrical outlet.

Then we went off to do our grocery shopping, and surprisingly it went well enough considering that I usually go alone most Sundays. Thea gets bored, Micah wants every single damn Beanie Baby that those evil supermartket people put at the end of every other aisle. He only made a major plea once - for another Austin, Two Austins, Mommy? NO. I want Austin. Sorry, people in Hell want ice water. End of discussion.

Technical difficulties with the photo CD I made last weekend, so new photos are not happening this weekend. Something to work on Wednesday. I'm working a half-day tomorrow, then the usual Tuesday-Thursday. Last week's five days, even with half-days sucked the life out of me.

Wednesday was going to be my first day with both kids in school. Until I looked at the calendar and realized that Wednesday is the 18th, and Summit School is closed for an in-service day. So I'll have Micah for company all day. At least there will be a convenient excuse for not getting anything accomplished around the house.

Thea's Career Planning

While we were at Borders today, Thea was excited to find a knight story complete with a small action figure. "I want to be a knight when I grow up," she said.

I tried to explain that employment opportunities may be somewhat limited in an age without dragons to slay (though I'd be willing to let her substitute Rush Limbaugh, he's scary and scaly enough) or damsels in distress to rescue.

Her reply to this was, "Well, then I'll be a garbage collector."

Okay. Dream big, little darling.

Why a garbage collector? Not exactly a career path that comes up on the standard astronaut, ballerina, doctor, police officer, fireman early childhood career aspirations spectrum.

"Because they drive around in cool trucks."

Of course. The Waste Management truck that comes through our neighborhood is right up there with a Porsche or a Ferrari in my book, too. Not.

We're sticking with the school bus. . .

. . . Bob the bus driver told us that the school district was signing the contract for the van on Friday, so since Micah was doing so well on the bus (despite our reservations about the harness and the noise level), we've decided to stickwith the bus.

The advantages are:

* there is the driver and an aide on every trip;
* they seem to love their work and the children they care for;
* they keep a small library of children's books on board to entertain their charges;
* Bob figured out a way to make his car seat work, so the harness is no more;
* Micah seems to like the other kids on the bus.

If we opted for the van, there would only be the driver without an aide and it would not be school district employees but a contract employee.

Meanwhile, Thea's class went to the Trenton/Mercer County Airport for a field trip today. She came home with a balsa wood airplane and a badge sticker from the fire station at the airport. And I managed to forget her car seat at school. We did make it to Village Shoes to get her a new pair of sneakers. Her shoes seem to go from mildly shabby to destroyed in the course of a day, and she's been overdue for a new pair. Unfortunately she wasn't willing to give up the destroyed Transformer shoes, so they came home with us (and just as soon as she forgets about them they are going to be hitting the road. No packratting allowed.)

I downloaded some pictures from the camera to a CD and need to load them: Micah's birthday, the first day of school, and other nonsense.

First Day of the School Bus

It's noisy. Now I know how our beagle Elbert used to go nuts and bark at the UPS truck, there is something about that little school bus engine that makes its presence known long before it appears at the end of the driveway. I was cringing, thinking of that noise getting pounded into Micah's head for an hour each way.

Then it got worse.

The driver and aide gave us a harness to put on Micah. It looks like something a parachutist or a bungee jumper might wear, just without the parachute or bungee cord, with a zipper up the back. There is a buckle that gets latched into a corresponding buckle that comes from the back of the bus seat. He looked thoroughly trussed up, disturbingly so. With no protective shell of a car seat around him. I'd like to see whatever the studies are that show this harness is safe in the event of an accident, it just doesn't convey that idea from the few moments we had to check it out.

And if Micah winds up being in to bondage later in life, I am going to sue the school district.

He didn't seem bothered much, and actually liked getting on a 'real' school bus. Steve and I stood there, wishing for a van. So much so that Steve called the district's transportation coordinator to see what other options are out there.

I emailed his teacher to see if he was ok in school today, and the note she sent back said he was as happy as ever, and he got off the bus in a great mood and loved it. According to the driver aide, he was playing peek-a-boo with one child, which made another child giggle, so then all of them were laughing, they keep a stock of picture books on their bus for the kids, so he had those too, and the aide sat next to him on the way home - as he left, she was in her own seat across the aisle and slightly back from Micah.

So now the wheels are in motion to change his transportation, though he seems fine with it. I just want us to get in our new routine.

Last Day of the School Van

Today when the driver and aide dropped Micah off our car seat was returned. Tomorrow Micah will be in a harness and on the school bus. It sounds a little bit medieval, a little bit bondage. I can't picture it, but he will be zipped into the harness and then the harness will be latched into the school bus seat. I just envision him sitting low on the seat, unable to look out the window. Fortunately the aide will be sitting next to him, she'd better like singing.

At school today Micah worked with Miss Cheryl. She was part of the team that initially evaluatead Micah in September 2007 before the start of Early Intervention. She also saw him that first year we went to the parent-infant program. And now that he's in preschool she got to see just how far his speech communication has come.

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Thea and I are going to Texas the last weekend in April; Steve made our reservations last night. She'll get to miss two day of school. Micah and Steve will get to have a bachelors' weekend.

We're flying into Dallas, I have a wedding to go to in Tyler, and we have friends and family in the Fort Worth area. Thea's never been to Texas, so she's excited, not that she told me, but she has supposedly told friends at school that she's going on a trip there.

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Tonight there was a phone message from the bus driver. He wants to pick up Micah at 7:20 am. No way - we've been getting used to 7:45 over the past few days, and it's been a challenge. Micah would be semi-comatose and barely dressed at 7:25. Not that we technically have any leverage, but since he's now going on the bus with the children being taken to the developmental center and we're sort of going along with it since the problem has been removed from the bus, we need to be cut a little slack. A lot of slack.

So now tomorrow there will be a whole new routine to get used to.

Daylight Savings Time !

Spring forward! I just love it. More daylight. One less hour on call this weekend. Bonus.

Twenty people seen during office hours this morning. That's what I usually see in the course of both morning and afternoon sessions. A non-stop parade of upper respiratory symptoms interspersed with two UTIs, one traveler's diarrhea, and a vaginal discharge that was masquerading as a stomach problem - though the jig was up when one of the front desk staff knocked on the door and started to open it while the patient was on the table, in the stirrups. I managed a very emphatic "NOT A GOOD TIME" (my version of "GO AWAY") before the door opened more than an inch.

Meanwhile and far away, the calls from the answering service started right as I pulled up in front of the salon for my 4 pm appointment. Refill for a Xanax prescription. Nice of the person to call AFTER office hours. Nice of him to listen to the message prior to the answering service picking up. Totally inappropriate. What do I look like the benzodiazepine fairy?

AND, to ice the cake, once I got home I looked up his medical record and his Xanax had been renewed on March 2nd. And if he's going through 60 Xanax 0.5mg in five days, he's got something going on that is a little bit beyond just phoning in a refill. AND to further decorate the icing on this cake the patient told the answering service that the dosage was 1mg. Weasel, weasel, weasel. But since the pharmacy where the March 2nd refill was sent was closed (yes, I am mean-spirited enough to check up on patients) until Monday morning, I gave in and called in #15 to the Walgreens, which had better keep him off the phone until the office reopens on Monday and he can deal with his regular provider.

Call just mystefies me. I don't think that my parents ever called the doctor's office after hours, I've never done it as an adult; it's either a suck it up, suffer and do the symptomatic care situation or it's bad enough to go the ER.

I'm working five days this coming week; one of the doctors is off on a ski trip to Vermont. The regular, now slighty abbreviated Tuesday and Thursday, and mornings only the remainder of the week.

Meanwhile family went to see Grandma and to Turtleback Zoo.

End of Week Wrap-Up

Micah made it to school via the Montgomery Township van for the second day. Today his driver was Toni, who came with Bob yesterday morning. She had another aide with her in the morning, but brought him home solo today. This morning as we were strapping him into the car seat she asked if she could give him a little school bus, so he's managed to charm another one of the transportation staff - who was also willing to spend an hour singing 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm', 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider' and 'The Wheels on the Bus' with him.

He came home from school with a library book, Maisy Goes to Bed, so we need to improve his taste in children's books. Maisy makes those Biscuit books he's so into look good by comparison.

I'm on call and working this weekend. Ick. The first 90 minutes were a non-stop stream of calls, mostly all busy work: an electronic prescription that had been sent from the office at 4:10 pm that had still not arrived at the pharmacy at 6:00 pm, a cough, one of those "I am starting with flu symptoms and need an antibiotic" calls that make me wish that insurance plans' patient newsletters and the media made more of an effort to inform people again and again and again that influenza is VIRAL and antibiotics are for BACTERIAL infections, so are therefore ineffective.

Then the stream of calls dried up and I was able to make dinner, get Thea showered and read a story to Micah before putting him to bed. Unfortunately I was woken up at 10 pm by a call from the answering service, while annoying, it got me up and back on the computer to finish chart notes. And the really wonderful thing about this is that I am sitting in the big chair with the ottoman in the living room, working on my laptop from work. The wireless internet router Steve installed works. This beats the socks off of sitting in the kitchen at the PC with its cold floor, no TV. I could get used to this.

Micah's First Day of School

. . . was yesterday. We made it out the door by 7:43 am yesterday, and were in New Providence by 8:46 am - no stops for coffee though we passed at least six Dunkin Donuts on the way. I was in need of a caffeine fix - up late the night before working on charts, Micah woke up at 3 am and was jabbering away. Changed his diaper and he went back asleep only to wake again about 30 minutes later.

I spent part of the day in the observation room watching his sessions with his primary teacher. He managed to behave fairly well, though there were a few times I wanted to reach through the one-way glass to park his butt in his little chair.

After the first session I went out for the much-needed, long overdue coffee and came back. I thought I'd go to the parent group meeting, but there seemed to be a lot of people, and being tired I just wanted to be by myself so I sat in the lobby for a bit. Micah's teacher came through for a few minutes on a break so she chatted about how she thought he was doing.

Summit has early dismissal on the first Wednesday of every month, so instead of having to wait until 2:45 pm to get my baby back, he was tucked into his coat and had his backpack on and was trotted out at 1:45. He was very proud that he took a nap after lunch (I sort of expected he would since he usually crashed quickly after his session with Ela.)

Meanwhile back home, Steve got a call from the school district was told Micah has a driver for Thursday and Friday.

So this morning we had Bob and his minivan pull into our driveway - he had an aide, not the one he usually rides with, along. No car seat - so we had to use Thea's old seat that was in the garage.

Thea was up, but not dressed for below freezing temperatures, so she stayed inside -but amidst the car seat drama she had an 'I'm alone in the house and I'm freaked out' drama, so I had to run in wrap her in my long winter coat and carry her back outside to be part of the whole getting Micah ready to roll scene.

And Steve and the aide strapped the seat in, strapped Micah in the seat and off they went. My little three-year old baby and two complete strangers hit the road.

I called the school at 9:10 am and he had arrived safely and seemed happy according to the receptionist.

The van is the one that the district originally proposed. The 'incident' that provoked all the excitment last week resulted in the student involved getting removed from the bus. The driver assures us that the other three are no problem at all - so it looks like Micah will be riding to school next week with the other children going to the program for children with autism.

More later. Suffice it to say I am more than a little pissed that the school district transporation office seems like it is trying to put one over on us. The intent that I got from the driver is that once the 'problem child' is off the bus, then the he feels that it would be fine for Micah to ride with the others. I liked the driver, he has nine years experience and seems like he knows his stuff - I want to to trust him, but I don't trust who he works for. Who is to say that some other child moves into the district with issues similar to the child removed from the bus and we're back to square one?

Micah got off the van today, happy as a clam, all smiles. He serenaded the driver and the aide (a different one this afternoon - she usually does the dispatching) and they both seemed to genuinenly enjoy him. We'll see if that holds up or if they will be dreaming of a van with three non-verbal autistic children and a quiet ride to/from Union County.

Cochlear Implant Encounter

Friday when we were at Family Fun Night at Summit School, dropping our tickets into the bags for the gift basket raffles, a lady stopped me and started asking about Micah's BAHAs. She said she was a teacher of the deaf from New York, and from her speech it seemed as if she had hearing loss of some sort herself.

The hallway, crowded with people, and already narrowed by the tables set up to hold the gift baskets, was not the best place to have a conversation. She was curious as to how the BAHAs are held on his head (the big mesh hairband with the two little disks held by the mesh and the BAHAs snapped onto them somehow eluding her.)

I tried explaining that he was too young to have the titanium posts that some BAHA users have to attach their devices directly onto their mastoid bone, and I tried to convey that we don't know what lies beneath in terms of being able to have atresia repair. With all the background noise, it was hard, I was struggling to keep my eyes on the kids, speak clearly and maintain eye contact with my listener - but it just really wasn't working. It was the longest fifteen to twenty minutes of my life in terms of frustration.

And then this woman says, "Wait a minute," reaches into her purse and pulls out an over-the-ear cochlear implant hearing aid, pops it on, attached the magnet and the conversation continued.

There were too many witnesses there, otherwise I would have cheerfully strangled her. Why doesn't she wear it all the time?

My frame of reference is stories about kids who want to sleep with their implants on, stories of parents who used some sort of seal-a-meal device to waterproof the implant so that the kid can wear it in the water held in place by a swim cap so they can hear, the idea being that the wearer is happier hearing versus not.

Thanks to a cold/sore throat, a yelling marathon over a blue lollipop with Thea and this conversation, my voice sounds like I'm going through gender reassigment surgery.

Mother Nature's Birthday Gift

The weather seems to be casting the majority shareholder's ballot as to whether Micah starts school on his birthday. Thea's school called around 9 pm Sunday night with a preemptive closing; the snow hadn't even begun to fall.

I was fooled into thinking the very light dusting we got Sunday morning was it, but there is about two to three inches on the ground as of right now (1:30 am).

So the best laid plans of mothers and three-year olds are on ice, quite literally.

Damn the weather, damn the transportation office. Bite me, all of you.

Happy Birthday Micah.

Sunday

Today Micah's Early Intervention expires. Tomorrow he's three. Nothing got solved on Friday regarding his transportation to Summit, so I'm millimeters away from having palpitations.

Today Steve took Thea and Micah to see their grandmother. He considers this a 'day off' for me.

On this 'day off', I have:

done a load of wash
put away three dryer loads of laundry
cooked three different breakfasts
- and cleaned up afterwards
baked a pound cake (which didn't turn out as good as I had hoped)
dressed two squirming children
made the bed, with two squirming children under foot
stripped, washed and remade Thea's bed
gone grocery shopping
- and put away most of the groceries
put together Micah's extra outfit for school in a ZipLoc labeling all the pieces,
labeled his notebook, labeled his Pull-Ups, labeled his container of wipes
wrapped his birthday gifts

Yeah, that's what I'd call a day off. And there is still dinner to cook, cupcakes to make. I want to find the Birthday Boy t-shirt I bought for Micah ages ago which now seems to have been swallowed by his closet.

And tomorrow the alarm will go off at 5 am. I'll need to figure out two lunches, make two breakfasts, etc., etc., etc. before getting on the road at 7:30 am to make sure Micah makes it to his first day of school on time.