Tim was 8 when we decided to enlist the help of a neuro-developmental therapist to help us incorporate sensory-therapies into Tim's home school program. It involved 6 to 8 hours of total time with Tim, when lumped with his academics. To say we were both tired at the end of a day would be accurate.
One particularly wearisome day towards the end of that very, very long year, we were in the middle of eye exercises wherein we covered one of Tim's eyes while he tracked with the other. He put his little hand on my shoulder and said, "Mommy, has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes?" They weren't dry after that, I'll say that much. Sweet balm to a mother's heart. And next week? We have a counseling appointment at Palomar Jr. college to get him enrolled for the fall. Who'd a thunk?
Monday, May 17, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
back in the saddle, or "bike seat"
I'm going to try really hard to write more often, really I am. Maybe I'll make a deal with Tim; every time he practices riding his bike, I'll try and come up with something to write, which, if I WATCH him practice, will be no problem whatsoever.
Because, here's how it went.
Most kids jump on a two-wheeler equipped with training wheels sometime around age 7 or 8. All those kinds of experiences were lost on Tim, who at the time was still struggling with large motor issues. So, here we go, Round Two at the nicely matured age of 19. That's right; we got him a brand new bike of his own for his 19th birthday.
He was cautiously enthusiastic about it, remembering back to other failed efforts, but also acknowledging that those were long ago and that he could probably master the skill this time around.
A) The crotch on his shorts was a little on the long side that day and it took 3 flinging tries with plenty of "Uuuughooof's!" to get his leg swung up high enough to clear the seat and land Over Yonder, though the seat was as low as it would go. I had to turn around and have a silent howl, putting myself at significant risk of wetting my panties. I had to clap my hands over my mouth to sufficiently suppress the deep chuckles. Hernia risk, for certain.
B) Really, the bike was too high for him, so getting his hulk settled on the seat without a do-it-yourself-prostate-exam being the accidental result was quite a feat in and of itself. Poor chappie. He was very good-natured about it and stuck with it for as long as we encouraged him to, but the overall assessment was that he needed a shorter bike to conquer this particular skill.
C) We found one! Sent the blue one back in exchange for a beautiful, short red fellow, cheery and far less threatening. Tim has at least got balancing on it down now, which was accomplished by sitting on the seat and sticking both legs out off the pedals while rolling down our sloped driveway, applying the handbrakes whenever acceleration got a little on the brisk side. I left him doing that because sometimes you learn better when there's no audience. He came in some fifteen minutes later declaring, "Don't get too excited Mom, but I think I managed two or three actual pedals up the driveway that time." I'll keep you "posted" on the progress......
Because, here's how it went.
Most kids jump on a two-wheeler equipped with training wheels sometime around age 7 or 8. All those kinds of experiences were lost on Tim, who at the time was still struggling with large motor issues. So, here we go, Round Two at the nicely matured age of 19. That's right; we got him a brand new bike of his own for his 19th birthday.
He was cautiously enthusiastic about it, remembering back to other failed efforts, but also acknowledging that those were long ago and that he could probably master the skill this time around.
A) The crotch on his shorts was a little on the long side that day and it took 3 flinging tries with plenty of "Uuuughooof's!" to get his leg swung up high enough to clear the seat and land Over Yonder, though the seat was as low as it would go. I had to turn around and have a silent howl, putting myself at significant risk of wetting my panties. I had to clap my hands over my mouth to sufficiently suppress the deep chuckles. Hernia risk, for certain.
B) Really, the bike was too high for him, so getting his hulk settled on the seat without a do-it-yourself-prostate-exam being the accidental result was quite a feat in and of itself. Poor chappie. He was very good-natured about it and stuck with it for as long as we encouraged him to, but the overall assessment was that he needed a shorter bike to conquer this particular skill.
C) We found one! Sent the blue one back in exchange for a beautiful, short red fellow, cheery and far less threatening. Tim has at least got balancing on it down now, which was accomplished by sitting on the seat and sticking both legs out off the pedals while rolling down our sloped driveway, applying the handbrakes whenever acceleration got a little on the brisk side. I left him doing that because sometimes you learn better when there's no audience. He came in some fifteen minutes later declaring, "Don't get too excited Mom, but I think I managed two or three actual pedals up the driveway that time." I'll keep you "posted" on the progress......
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Ziplocks
The slow ocean waves of Del Mar were soothing the four of us into a lovely afternoon pre-coffee stupification yesterday when Clay turned to our friends Joe and Michelle; "You guys have been our inspiration in remaining a pet-free household. We haven't caved."
There was a time when Tim desperately wanted a dog, and we went so far as to research what breed our allergy-prone household could manage, but the sticker-shock of some sort of Boxer (I've since put the exact name of it out of my mind) put a kabash on that project. Additionally, while we had a dog living with us for a bit, Tim experienced first hand that there are responsibilities that will nag your conscience if not tended to, and anyone who knows Tim understands that his conscience works in overdrive as it is.
I was hanging some laundry over the railings of my bedroom balcony for the San Diego sunshine to dry one Saturday morning, after we'd had the cute little Scnhoodle (hypoallergenic Schnauser-poodle) staying with us for some weeks, when I spotted Tim down on the back lawn below, clad in his jamies and his rust-colored terry cloth robe; hair in full bed-head disarray. He had the kitchen tongs in one hand and a gallon-sized ziplock baggie in another.
No.
Oh, but yes.
I already knew the answer, but I ventured the question anyway, "Tim? What are you doing?" He looked up and said, "Uh, I thought I should pick up some of Coco's you-know-what's since there seem to be kind of a lot of them at the moment." And he waved the ziplock baggie up at me to demonstrate the boon of harvest he already had.
ACK! My KITCHEN TONGS!
We reviewed that the particular procedure of picking up doggie poopies should use lesser valued *tools* and receptacles, and that both items were to go immediately into the outside trash. Tim, a soul reluctant to waste a single thing said, "Are you sure I couldn't just wash the tongs in really hot water?"
Nope. My brain will not accept that. Even after purchasing a shiny new pair of tongs, I still can't look at them without thinking of Tim's alternate, though thoughtful usage for them.
To clarify, no one had been falling down on the job of poop picking-up; our friends were away at the time and we just hadn't assigned it to anyone. Because nobody at our house is all that keen on poop.
There was a time when Tim desperately wanted a dog, and we went so far as to research what breed our allergy-prone household could manage, but the sticker-shock of some sort of Boxer (I've since put the exact name of it out of my mind) put a kabash on that project. Additionally, while we had a dog living with us for a bit, Tim experienced first hand that there are responsibilities that will nag your conscience if not tended to, and anyone who knows Tim understands that his conscience works in overdrive as it is.
I was hanging some laundry over the railings of my bedroom balcony for the San Diego sunshine to dry one Saturday morning, after we'd had the cute little Scnhoodle (hypoallergenic Schnauser-poodle) staying with us for some weeks, when I spotted Tim down on the back lawn below, clad in his jamies and his rust-colored terry cloth robe; hair in full bed-head disarray. He had the kitchen tongs in one hand and a gallon-sized ziplock baggie in another.
No.
Oh, but yes.
I already knew the answer, but I ventured the question anyway, "Tim? What are you doing?" He looked up and said, "Uh, I thought I should pick up some of Coco's you-know-what's since there seem to be kind of a lot of them at the moment." And he waved the ziplock baggie up at me to demonstrate the boon of harvest he already had.
ACK! My KITCHEN TONGS!
We reviewed that the particular procedure of picking up doggie poopies should use lesser valued *tools* and receptacles, and that both items were to go immediately into the outside trash. Tim, a soul reluctant to waste a single thing said, "Are you sure I couldn't just wash the tongs in really hot water?"
Nope. My brain will not accept that. Even after purchasing a shiny new pair of tongs, I still can't look at them without thinking of Tim's alternate, though thoughtful usage for them.
To clarify, no one had been falling down on the job of poop picking-up; our friends were away at the time and we just hadn't assigned it to anyone. Because nobody at our house is all that keen on poop.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Under Construction
Don't worry! I'm just fussing around because I'm sick to death of the boredom that is my blogpage. Utterly uninspiring and pedestrian. It might look different yet again when next you sign on to see if anything is out there to tickle your funny bone. I have TWO things to tappety-tap; TWO, so check back later.
The Incident of the Skating Rink and New Uses For Ziplocks coming to your computer screen very soon.
Happy Valentines Sunday to everyone! Give your loved ones reason to have a twinkle in their eye by doing something special for them.....
The Incident of the Skating Rink and New Uses For Ziplocks coming to your computer screen very soon.
Happy Valentines Sunday to everyone! Give your loved ones reason to have a twinkle in their eye by doing something special for them.....
Saturday, November 28, 2009
"I need my family!"
That is a direct and shameless quote from my little 3-year-old nephew, Nicolas, who stated this little piece of true wisdom at the Thanksgiving table after they had returned home from the frenzied wedding weekend at our house.
Ahhh! SUCH a glorious time! I have to tell the world (or at least the small followers of this teensy blog) how impressed/proud/humbled I was by the sight of our entire extended family heaving-to and making this wedding not only HAPPEN, but making it a beautiful, personal, creatively touched event. My family....my family. Couldn't have done it without my family and a few of our dearest, generous friends who gave of themselves with their selfless, seemingly tireless, loving and joyful contributions on every front; from floral arranging to fancy sandwich making to sign-design to makeup artistry on what seemed to be an endless stream of cheerful bridesmaids and the utter grunt-work of set up and tear down involved in a backyard reception. It was this beautiful, warm event that none of us will ever, ever forget. The culmination, of course, was sitting on that golf green and hearing Heidi and Scott pledge their lives and love to one another as the ocean breeze ruffled Heidi's dress and hair. I'm fairly certain that the only dry eyes in the house were those of the worms underground, waiting for some peace and quiet.
At any rate, I echo Nicolas' sage remark, "I need my family!" Because, they are the best people on the planet.
Basking in the memory and wishing you all a happy and blessed holiday season,
Candy
Ahhh! SUCH a glorious time! I have to tell the world (or at least the small followers of this teensy blog) how impressed/proud/humbled I was by the sight of our entire extended family heaving-to and making this wedding not only HAPPEN, but making it a beautiful, personal, creatively touched event. My family....my family. Couldn't have done it without my family and a few of our dearest, generous friends who gave of themselves with their selfless, seemingly tireless, loving and joyful contributions on every front; from floral arranging to fancy sandwich making to sign-design to makeup artistry on what seemed to be an endless stream of cheerful bridesmaids and the utter grunt-work of set up and tear down involved in a backyard reception. It was this beautiful, warm event that none of us will ever, ever forget. The culmination, of course, was sitting on that golf green and hearing Heidi and Scott pledge their lives and love to one another as the ocean breeze ruffled Heidi's dress and hair. I'm fairly certain that the only dry eyes in the house were those of the worms underground, waiting for some peace and quiet.
At any rate, I echo Nicolas' sage remark, "I need my family!" Because, they are the best people on the planet.
Basking in the memory and wishing you all a happy and blessed holiday season,
Candy
Sunday, November 8, 2009
It is a GOOD reason.
Really, this time, I TOTALLY have a good reason for not attending to my writing assignments. As in, Heidi is getting MARRIED in less than 2 weeks and we are working QUITE hard to make it a completely glorious day for her and Scott.
So.
Naturally, in the process of getting things ready, one has to make sure everyone's got proper wedding gear for the special day. I've finally found my dress, Clay is on his way to a full suit, and today, we made it our aim to get Tim all situated. Always an adventure; always.
Erstmahl (which means, "first of all" in German) as you've read in previous posts, you know that Tim only has 2 speeds to his metabolism; "slow" and "reverse". He's just a very laid-back, mellow type of fellow; methodical, if you will. Make no mistake; he gets things done and they get done well; there's just never a sense of *hurry* about him. Which can be good for the rest of us who sometimes tear through life at a pace that keeps our hair streaming out behind us.
So, we fetch a few pairs of pants and a shirt and shuffle off to the dressing room. I don't know what it is about Target's dressing rooms, but both times Tim has had to try things on there, he nearly blows the doors off with one of his hydrogen-bomb sneezes. It certainly marks the time of day for whatever unsuspecting attendant is at the service desk. This time, the startled woman looked up at me and then and yelled, "Bless you!" around the corner. Good. We are already leaving an impression.
I am the hare and Tim is the tortoise. I don't know WHY, I really don't, WHY it takes so frightfully long to climb in and out of a pair of pants and shirt. I feel my life slipping away from me as I leeeeeean all over my cart alternating weight on my feet, praying a little and contemplating the universe. FINALLY he emerges, and now I have a clue as to why it took a long time -- the pants are, well, "snug" is being kind. I shooed him out of the public eye and told him to hurry a little bit with the remaining things, which he did.
We finally settled on THIS:
He looks pretty spiffy, no? Le Vest hides away Le Love for cheesecake and makes him look nice and manly. We were wending our way out of the men's department when he spotted HATS and begged to try on a few fedoras. So we got one to finish off his outfit, but he is verboten from wearing it TO the ceremony. He'll have to wait until the reception to add that little flourish.
Heidi ok'd the outfit, so we've got that down. Yay. Have to hem the pants, but I'd say we did well, even efficiently grabbing 3 linen tablecloths on our way to the men's department so that the food tables are well outfitted also.
It's going to be a great day.
Don't expect to hear from me between now and then or anytime shortly thereafter.....
So.
Naturally, in the process of getting things ready, one has to make sure everyone's got proper wedding gear for the special day. I've finally found my dress, Clay is on his way to a full suit, and today, we made it our aim to get Tim all situated. Always an adventure; always.
Erstmahl (which means, "first of all" in German) as you've read in previous posts, you know that Tim only has 2 speeds to his metabolism; "slow" and "reverse". He's just a very laid-back, mellow type of fellow; methodical, if you will. Make no mistake; he gets things done and they get done well; there's just never a sense of *hurry* about him. Which can be good for the rest of us who sometimes tear through life at a pace that keeps our hair streaming out behind us.
So, we fetch a few pairs of pants and a shirt and shuffle off to the dressing room. I don't know what it is about Target's dressing rooms, but both times Tim has had to try things on there, he nearly blows the doors off with one of his hydrogen-bomb sneezes. It certainly marks the time of day for whatever unsuspecting attendant is at the service desk. This time, the startled woman looked up at me and then and yelled, "Bless you!" around the corner. Good. We are already leaving an impression.
I am the hare and Tim is the tortoise. I don't know WHY, I really don't, WHY it takes so frightfully long to climb in and out of a pair of pants and shirt. I feel my life slipping away from me as I leeeeeean all over my cart alternating weight on my feet, praying a little and contemplating the universe. FINALLY he emerges, and now I have a clue as to why it took a long time -- the pants are, well, "snug" is being kind. I shooed him out of the public eye and told him to hurry a little bit with the remaining things, which he did.
We finally settled on THIS:
He looks pretty spiffy, no? Le Vest hides away Le Love for cheesecake and makes him look nice and manly. We were wending our way out of the men's department when he spotted HATS and begged to try on a few fedoras. So we got one to finish off his outfit, but he is verboten from wearing it TO the ceremony. He'll have to wait until the reception to add that little flourish.
Heidi ok'd the outfit, so we've got that down. Yay. Have to hem the pants, but I'd say we did well, even efficiently grabbing 3 linen tablecloths on our way to the men's department so that the food tables are well outfitted also.
It's going to be a great day.
Don't expect to hear from me between now and then or anytime shortly thereafter.....
Thursday, September 3, 2009
ADHD Ruminating
Wow guys, it's been so long. It's really only because I've actually been LIVING life, rather than commenting on it, though I've had some pokes from people insisting that I muscle enough time into my schedule to manage BOTH. I'm out of the habit, even as I'm out of the habit of taking my vitamins because one of them backs up on me throughout the day, coloring over any other culinary treats trying to make their way down, but that's another post.....
Here's where I really need help getting my blog up to snuff and not looking quite so incredibly blah. Because I need a picture for you to really get the full impact of this little Tim-ism.
We recently wallowed in a glorious vacation to the Bay Area to see family and friends. During one of our family gatherings, Tim was petting Kylie, my sister's dog. She's a beautiful mix of German Shepherd and something else (Kylie, not my sister) and has endeared herself to all our hearts with her attentive personality. If she knows you, she loves on you as soon as you come through the door and expects you to behave in like manner, namely that you rub her back and as she rolls over, her belly as well.
Tim, being the compassionate and giving lad that he is, was dutifully paying her these attentions, when he noticed that this activity was producing a small hill of shedding hair. Jen offered to let Tim brush her, which sounded harmless enough to him. However, when Jen returned holding a gadget that looked no less frightful than one half of a toothy bear trap, he reluctantly took it from her, his face registering increasing alarm. He took a few steps back towards Kylie and then looked over his shoulder, asking, "Uhhh; are you SURE about this?" He gingerly bent over Kylie's back and just barely brushed the surface of her, certain that this just could NOT be right. He was expecting a BRUSH, not a semi circle of glinting shark's teeth.
But of course, those of you who own a dog know that this is just fine, that doggies actually love the way this feels, and indeed, Kylie seemed to enjoy being rid of an extra pound or so of drifting fur and having every itch; past, present and future, completely tamed as Tim finally bore down on the thing with less fear of puncturing a major artery. I'm wondering if I need to get one for myself, actually. I have a perpetual need to have my back scratched.......
See? I need pictures.
Here's where I really need help getting my blog up to snuff and not looking quite so incredibly blah. Because I need a picture for you to really get the full impact of this little Tim-ism.
We recently wallowed in a glorious vacation to the Bay Area to see family and friends. During one of our family gatherings, Tim was petting Kylie, my sister's dog. She's a beautiful mix of German Shepherd and something else (Kylie, not my sister) and has endeared herself to all our hearts with her attentive personality. If she knows you, she loves on you as soon as you come through the door and expects you to behave in like manner, namely that you rub her back and as she rolls over, her belly as well.
Tim, being the compassionate and giving lad that he is, was dutifully paying her these attentions, when he noticed that this activity was producing a small hill of shedding hair. Jen offered to let Tim brush her, which sounded harmless enough to him. However, when Jen returned holding a gadget that looked no less frightful than one half of a toothy bear trap, he reluctantly took it from her, his face registering increasing alarm. He took a few steps back towards Kylie and then looked over his shoulder, asking, "Uhhh; are you SURE about this?" He gingerly bent over Kylie's back and just barely brushed the surface of her, certain that this just could NOT be right. He was expecting a BRUSH, not a semi circle of glinting shark's teeth.
But of course, those of you who own a dog know that this is just fine, that doggies actually love the way this feels, and indeed, Kylie seemed to enjoy being rid of an extra pound or so of drifting fur and having every itch; past, present and future, completely tamed as Tim finally bore down on the thing with less fear of puncturing a major artery. I'm wondering if I need to get one for myself, actually. I have a perpetual need to have my back scratched.......
See? I need pictures.
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