Señora in the Moon

I have to say that I consider myself pretty lucky as far as husbands go. Mine never asks to go out to the bar with the boys, he doesn't go hunting, or off to sports games, leaving me at home to take care of the kids. As long as we've been together, if he is not at work, he is at home, with me. 

His hobby is playing video games, which, as nice as it is having him consistently be just down the hall, I admit that I do at times feel like I'm married to a teenage boy. Aside from Mario Brothers 2, I've never understood the allure of video games or how they are entertaining enough to play for hours on end. 

Husband has always been good about making time for me though. Clearly, we had three children in four years. But we think it's important that our relationship be a priority, and so we try to get alone time together whenever we can. Our main activities though, were watching movies on Netflix, and making babies.

Until now.

     So baby, I think we need to do some kind of an activity together. You know, 
     join a class like mountain climbing or cage fighting, or something. I'm open.

    ....That's really not my thing. Plus, I'm pretty sure this is just those two glasses
     of wine you had talking.

     No, no, I'm for real. I want to spend more time with you, and I think it would 
     be good for us to try something new. Ok, so it doesn't have to be self defense, 
     what if we...learned a foreign language together? 

That sounded much more my style. Learning a new language with my husband? I imagined us out for a romantic dinner, gazing into each other's eyes, speaking in some romantic tongue like Italian, or French, or maybe even Hebrew. Something different and exotic. Yes, very romantic. I was on board.

I pulled up the Rosetta Stone website, and Husband and I began going over their list of languages offered. 

     Now, we could do French, that's a very lovely, romantic language. Or, we could
     take Italian, since we want to go to Italy someday, and I can't think of anything
     more romantic than walking through the streets of Italy, speaking the native
     language to one another. What do you think, my darling?

     No, no, no...hmmm. We need something useful, something that can be used to 
     our advantage against our enemies in battle. Now we could always take 
     Russian, but I think that Chinese would be better suited here. I mean, no one 
     knows Chinese. Think of what an asset I would be to the Navy if I learned 
     Chinese! Or we could always do Tagalog. Some guy on my ship was Filipino 
     and he taught me a swear word, so I've already got a little background in the 
     language.

Don't get me wrong, I love me some Chinese Buffet, but hard as I tried, I could not picture anything romantic about Richard and me speaking Chinese back and forth to one another. We discussed it a bit more, and in the end, we decided on Spanish. I know, not exactly exciting, but we figured we would be able to get the most use out of that language. I mean, we're only a few blocks away from a Mexican restaurant, where we can test out our new language. 

Plus, I love margaritas and tamales, so, added bonus right there.

     Okay, so we're agreed on Spanish. Order that shiz, baby!

     All right...but are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it's not cheap. So I
     don't want you to wake up in the morning and be all, yeah, that was the wine
     talking, I didn't mean for you to spend almost $200 on materials to learn
     another language.

     No way Jose, I am down to learn some español! See? I already sound like a 
     natural. Let's do this!

So this should be fun, getting to spend some time, every night together, learning a new skill. I am really excited.

I just hope Husband doesn't wake up tomorrow and change his mind, otherwise we'll have a ton of Spanish learning materials that will just sit in our house collecting dust, and I'll be stuck ordering Mexican food in boring old English for the rest of my life.

Figuring it Out

I pulled into the parking spot, and that's when I saw her. A woman standing behind a table with the words Autism Awareness on a large sign. She was collecting donations for the cause.

I could feel my heart beating faster. In the past, I would have had no problem giving a quick, polite smile and hurrying into the store, or simply avoiding eye contact like I do with the Girl Scouts every year when it's cookie season time. But something inside me said I couldn't ignore her, as all of the other patrons appeared to be doing. I knew I had to go talk to her.

I approached her table, and she started softly rattling off her memorized lines that she had probably said to a dozen people that evening, without any response. 

When she finished, I smiled and said, "My son has autism". I could hear my voice shaking as the words came out. I forced myself to take a deep breath, to steady myself.

I have literally said those words a handful of times. And definitely never to a stranger. I think those words every day; I live them. Still, they sounded foreign coming out of my mouth, stopping me in my tracks.

The woman's eyes brightened a bit. She handed me a pamphlet on autism, and asked if I had read it. I told her no, and took it, although I knew what it would say. I've read dozens of pamphlets and internet articles on autism; I would be surprised to learn something new at this point. I spotted a donation box filled with some dollar bills, and I told her I would see if I could get some cash while in the store.

Even though I finally opened up about Binker's diagnosis on my blog here, I know that I still keep a lot of it internalized. I don't walk around with a sign on me that reads, "I have a child with autism". To most, I smile and say everything is great, and, honestly, as I wrote about, things are very good. The progress he made this past year is amazing, and I know he will continue to do so, but there are difficult days - when he is overly tired, when he gets frustrated at a toy, or scared in the night but is unable to explain why - and then everything just melts down. During those times, I feel like I am walking on egg shells around my child. Trying so hard to stay one step ahead of him - trying to anticipate what he will want - so that he doesn't get even more upset. 

I feel uncomfortable when we're out in public and strangers will try to talk to him. They ask him questions, like how old he is, how many siblings he has, is he excited about the new baby, what's his name. They always look a bit perplexed when Binker doesn't answer, or he repeats the question they just asked, or he answers by saying something like, "The light is on!" While looking at the ceiling lights. I always try to answer for him, or make some excuse about him being shy.  

On one hand, it would be so easy to just tell everyone we come in contact with up front that Binker has autism, but on the other hand, I don't want that to be the first thing people know about him.

We left Binker's first pediatrician, who initially got us on this path, because I did not appreciate his bed side manner with Jacob, or the way in which he handled the situation as a whole, but there was one thing he told us that I have tried to keep as my mantra this past year. When we were in his office, and we knew we would have to wait to get in to see the speech therapist, and any specialists, I felt so helpless. There is nothing worse than wanting to help your child, and not being able to take immediate action. I asked the doctor what we should do in the meantime. His answer: Treat him like a typical kid, just as you would if he didn't have autism. 

I have done my best to treat him the same as I treat his brothers. Obviously there are times when I cut him some slack, when I don't think he fully understands what it is we're telling him, or asking of him, but for the most part, he is treated just like any typical three year old boy. That's how I see him, too. To me, he is my sweet, funny, bright, lovable firstborn son. Who just happens to have autism.

It was nice to be able to open up to that woman at the store, almost cathartic in a way. But at the end of the day, I want the world to see Binker the way I see him. Just wonderful and awesome, the way God made him. 

I guess I'm still figuring this all out as we go.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to all...

...And to all a good night.

Elf on a Shelf

Christmas was always magical for me as a kid. My parents went all out in talking up Santa and his elves. I have written about our own personal Santa, who was so believable and awesome that I literally believed in Santa until I was 10. In fact, if my mom hadn't told me the truth I would probably still believe in him today.

Not only did we have our own Santa though, but we had our own elf. Ohhh yes. His name was Elmo, and, according to my dad, (who claimed he saw him once, OMG!), Elmo had red hair and very red cheeks. We never saw Elmo, ourselves, but every December, it never failed, we would hear this high-pitched, delirious giggle ring through the house, and my mom would tell us we needed to hide because Elmo was at our house, and we weren't allowed to see him. So we would hide, and a few minutes later, my mom would give us the all clear, and then we would go through the house looking for the little presents he would leave for us.

It was never anything big, usually something like a toothbrush or toothpaste, but the fact that Elmo, Santa's Elf brought it for us all the way from the North Pole, made it that much more special.

I like to think that our family was unique in that we had our own elf, but nowadays, any kid can have one: it's called Elf on a Shelf. And it kind of makes me wonder why my own parents didn't invent it themselves. It's a small elf doll, that arrives every December to keep an eye on the kids in the house. Every night he reports back to Santa on whether the kids are being good or bad, and since the elf leaves every night, when he arrives back the next morning, he, of course, needs to be in a new location.

Every family gets to name their elf. Ours is Sprinkles.

He's been in some funny places this month. I'll admit there have been a few mornings where I think Sprinkles got a little lazy and forgot to move to a new location, so he would covertly jump to a new place while the kids ate breakfast.

Our boys are still a little young to fully understand all of this Santa/Elf stuff, but they enjoy looking for Sprinkles each morning, in fact, that's usually the first thing they ask me. "Where's Sprinkles?!" And then they race around the house until they find him.

Here are a few places the boys have awakened to find Sprinkles this month:

On a picture frame

Hanging outside their bedroom door

On the TV

On the coat rack

On a curtain rod

On the Christmas tree

In a stocking

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the chandelier

 The boys have really had a better understanding of Christmastime, and opening presents this season. Sprinkles has played a big part in encouraging them to be interactive in the festivities. It makes me that much more excited for next year, I think they will really be into all the fun and magic that Christmas has to offer.

Now I'm off to drink my weight in egg nog and peppermint white chocolate martinis while it is still socially acceptable for a few more days. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Hoarding, revisited.

Okay.

I just opened the garbage can in our kitchen and something caught my eye, something that didn't belong in there: clothes. And toys. And a sippy cup. And a baby monitor. All stuffed into a grocery bag, and thrown into the garbage can. It took me about .2 seconds to finger the culprit.

Bug. My hoarder.

I wrote about his hoarding habit before, almost a year ago, and since then, he has only gotten worse. He hoards everything - and I mean everything - from rubber balls, to mittens, to hair curlers, to scraps of paper he finds on the floor, to the toilet paper roll holder thingy. And he will hoard these items into whatever he can find, such as the DVD cabinet, cardboard boxes, clothes hampers, shoes, animal cracker boxes, his backpack, and his favorite, the grocery bag.

For your enjoyment, and as a way to maintain my sanity, (because I mean, really, at this point, it's either laugh at it or lose my mind), I have taken some photos of places I have discovered his hoarding piles.

Yeah, that's a paper towel roll.

Okay, this one is fun. Not only did he hoard small items into each of those red stocking hats, but then he hoarded the hats and his dinosaur into his high chair. He is hoarding his hoarded items. It's like Inception for hoarders, OMG.

Hoarding in his shoes. Really?

This past weekend though, I believe took the prize. I needed to use the bathroom, but when I opened the door, I was met with this:

Yes, that is correct. He hoarded in the toilet. And upon fishing the items out of the toilet, what kinds of treasures did we find? Well, for starters, about 50 plastic travel place mats (there goes $5.00 I'll never get back), the toilet paper holder, a red Santa bag from Target (the same one that is pictured about six photos up), and a baby shoe. Husband and I were holding our breath the entire time until we reached the bottom and confirmed that (THANK GOD), Bug had not attempted to flush the toilet with all of that stuff in there.

Oh, and as a side note, I just want to give a shout-out to the Lid-Lok toilet lock company for making just one more "child-proof" item that I have trouble using, yet my toddlers can - not only open - but also remove without difficulty. It's on the same list as child-proof doorknobs, and child-proof dishwasher locks. Am I smarter than a toddler? Apparently not.

A few weeks ago, I got so concerned over Bug's unstoppable hoarding that I Googled it. I was surprised to read that apparently many toddlers engage in this behavior, as it is their way of taking control over something, like their toys, in a world where they don't have much control. These articles also warned against trying to stop the child, claiming it is harmless behavior, and that if you try to stop them from doing it, it will only lead to unnecessary tantrums.

Now, I am all about avoiding tantrums, but in all my years I have never heard of toddler hoarding, and I find it hard to believe that it is that common of a thing. Is anyone else out there dealing with this issue? Even on a much smaller scale?

Please tell me I'm not alone, otherwise I am calling TLC. If I can't stop Ryan from hoarding, maybe we can at least we can get some celebrity out of it.

Flashback Friday - Christmases Past

Disclosure: I am stealing this post idea from Stefanie over at The Trigstad Family.

I thought that posting Santa photos from the past few years was such a cute idea, to show how the kids have grown and changed, and to debate over which Santa was the creepiest, obviously. I have to apologize though, I don't have any actual digital copies of the pictures, so these were all either scanned, or are a photo of a photo. Not the best quality, but it works.

2008, Binker's first Christmas, he was exactly 7 months old the day we had this photo taken. Ohh, he was so chubby and cute in his little vest and tie!

2009,  Binker was about 19 months old, and Bug was about 8 months. I love how Binker looks unsure about this whole situation, I remember he kept staring at Santa's beard, and Bug is just eating up the attention.

2010, Binker was 2 and a half, and Bug was about 20 months old. Neither one would smile for the camera, but amazingly they sat still and no one cried!

2011, Binker is 3 and a half, Bug is a little over 2 and a half, and Boo was exactly one month old on picture day. This year was by far the most challenging. Binker and Bug were not at all interested in sitting on Santa's lap, so we kept bribing them with candy. You can see in this picture that Binker is about 2 seconds away from sliding off the chair, but miracle of all miracles, we managed to get a photo of them all looking at the camera! (I gave up on trying for a smiley picture a long time ago).

So there you have it. Photos of our Christmases past. I have to admit that I do feel a little robbed that I don't have any photos of them screaming or crying because they don't want to be near Santa. Isn't that some sort of parent's rite of passage or something?

Anchors Away

Four years, six months and two days ago, I woke up at 4:45am, ready to head to the pier at Naval Station Everett for work, to welcome home the sailors from the USS Rodney M. Davis. I had no idea my entire life would change that day.

Somewhere in bachelor housing on the base, Husband was waking up, in a bad mood. This was to be his first day aboard the Davis, the ship he'd been assigned to. It was his first sea duty assignment, and he was not looking forward to it. He had no idea that a day he thought would be not so great, turned into one of the best days of his life.

I was organizing our booth on the pier, when I looked up to find myself staring into the most beautiful set of green eyes I'd ever seen in my life. It was only for a second though, the handsome sailor was passing by our table when our eyes met, and then he continued on. I grabbed my boss, Julie, and said "Oh my gosh, did you see that guy's eyes? They were gorgeous!"

I couldn't stop thinking about how handsome he'd been. I'd worked at several Naval homecomings before, and had never looked at a single sailor; I simply wasn't interested in dating someone in the military. But there was something about this one, I felt drawn to him. He was with a small group of other sailors, waiting to meet the ship, and they hung close to our table. He and I kept making eye contact and smiling shyly at one another. Finally, I saw him standing alone, this was my chance. I walked over, and asked him how long it would be before the sailors disembarked from the ship. He and I began talking, and before we knew it, we were sharing our life stories - where we each grew up, and information about our families. I found out that the day before had been his 23rd birthday, he was the same age as me. 

After about 15 minutes he said, "I'm Richard, by the way." I told him my name, and we shook hands. He got a cute smile on his face, and said, "So, can I get your number?"

Three hours later he called me. We went on our first date that night, and three weeks after that first date, he proposed. The rest is history. 

Our entire relationship, up to this point, has coincided with Husband's time on his ship. So many important moments in our life together have revolved around the ship's schedule. We couldn't take longer than a two day honeymoon because they were scheduled to ship out the Monday after we got married. The ship was in San Diego when Binker was born, so Husband had to take two weeks of leave so he would be home for his birth. And it was a miracle that Husband was granted emergency leave to come home for Bug's birth, since his ship was on a six month deployment when he was born. I have traveled to San Diego numerous times to visit him on the many trips his ship has taken down there. Before we met, I had never even been to San Diego, now I consider it to be one of my favorite cities. 

We've never been able to makes plans very far out, as the ship's schedule could be unpredictable, and always subject to change.

But all of that ends today.

Today is Husband's very last day on the ship. His tour of duty with them is over, after four and a half years. I don't even want to know how many days from those four and a half years we spent apart. I could try to figure it out, but that's just depressing. My guess would be at least half. There were the two deployments, equaling over a year's time, and dozens of underways, which ranged from a couple days' time, to a couple months.

While he was on the Davis though, he accomplished so much. When we met, Husband was a Seaman, he has since been promoted twice to Petty Officer, 2nd Class. He obtained his ESWS Pin two years ago, after extensive studying and testing. He was a member of the VBSS team, and while on the ship he earned a Navy Achievement Medal. We are beyond proud of his many successes. He is the hardest working sailor I know, and has been entrusted with numerous leadership responsibilities. But he is burnt out. Four and half years at sea is exhausting, and I know that these next few years off, in his new position will be a good relief for him. Selfishly, I am looking forward to no duty days and no deployments for a few years. I am so excited to have him home every night, on a somewhat regular schedule. 

It's weird to think that there will be no more 5am alarms to wake up to, no more days without him coming home. This is the only life I have known with my husband, but I am very excited for the next chapter to begin, and see where it takes us.