Today when I went over to the nursing home, Emory wasn’t feeling like eating any lunch at all and was going to nap, so Kathryn and I took advantage of the sunny day to go to the old St. James Restaurant in Avilla. I hadn’t planned on going and had on worn jeans and an old sweatshirt and shoes with paint on them. The waitress suggested we might want a table that was tucked in a hallway, but I said, “No, this is a special time and we want to be in the front room with the mural.” And so we were.

The mural:

Kathryn:

As for me, I need to spiff up.

I think Summer may be a HABOOB.  Maybe this video of a haboob from weather.com will play here.

Last week I cited this article about a family with autism in this POST.  I would like to see frequent updates to learn if the last paragraph in the aricle is still applicable. This paragraph:

In other words, one week of intervention therapy has done more than simply give Marissa some rules to follow and the household some much needed quiet. It has brought this once-divided family back together.

I don’t think the original article made it clear how long the interval was between the five-day- therapy and the determining of that concluding paragraph. It would be interesting to know.

President’s Day, so it is Monday and there is no school. The kids had a half-day on Friday. We are up this morning to take Der Bingle’s car in for brakes and then he will head back to Fairborn. No one else is up. Tomorrow at this time I will be dropping Summer off at middle school. I feel right now as if I am in limbo. But, then, my cough has hung on and I wouldn’t mind limbo if it weren’t going to end this day. A few days in a limbo hammock sounds okay, although you have to be careful not to turn on your stomach and wind up with your arms and legs dangling down through the holes.

I am in a grouchy mood this morning.  Better set out flares.

Three O’ Clock this morning – it happened. I awoke and thought, “My gosh, my head is not a snot-filled bowling ball.” I had about given up hope, as you can probably guess by the fact that this cold wore me down to frequent use of the word “snot” and the phrase “snort snot”. Yes!! I actually feel sort of bouncy and my eyelids are staying up voluntarily. My cough is still here, but it is breaking up.

Now I hope I have not jinxed myself . . . and I hope Der Bingle didn’t pick up this germ last weekend because he is coming back this weekend.

I hesitate to remark on this – this article on CNN.com about a family with an uncontrollable autistic tantrum-throwing child (age 13) who has supposedly been tremendously helped by a five-day $20,000 (provided gratis) intervention. The family is no longer in “chaos”. I hope this is true, but I doubt it. I’m not going to analyze the article, other than to point out a telling paragraph :

That’s just what the Bilsons are doing: One step at a time. They have increased the amount of time that Marissa has to practice her new behavior, from a starting time of 20 minutes a day toward a goal of 60 minutes.

The reason I have a problem with this article is that it tells people who do not live with children who are incredibly disruptive that it is easy to correct the situation. I speak from experience: THAT IS ABSOLUTE  . . . excuse me for straying from AJ speak . . .  BULLSHIT.

With all due respect to my middle grandson, who is now 14, tons of time, money, hospitalizations and therapies have not altered his behavior in a way it is possible for his brother and sister to have friends over. I can’t understand it; it does not make sense. It does not respond to any “this is in your best interest” argument. I know he did not ask to be like this, but gosh o’mighty, it is hard to live with him.

I cringe at thinking of parents now who are going to have to deal with the old “Oh, you just need rules and behavior modification” and you’ll be fine. BULLSHIT. I guess I’m angry here. First parents have to deal with this type of condition in a child and now they will have people thinking they just aren’t handling it correctly.

It can get bad, very bad. Tantrums, violence, the refusal to use the bathroom – #1 and #2. Yes, I’m sorry; it’s indelicate, I know . . . but it happens. It is real for some families.

Well, despite the view from the front door, the storm went south of us. However, it brushed across us enough to close the schools after an initial 2-Hour-D. So THEY are HERE with ME. Sydney was upset when no one headed off this morning; he likes the peaceful quiet of a normal school day. He, of course, was homeschooled, excelling in management classes.

Alison is not working today and had her traditional oatmeal breakfast. Oatmeal is tough stuff; I preach: “Soak that bowl; soak that pan.” Personally, I have a peanut butter foldover or an egg and toast. I am craving eggs now . . . strips of toast being dipped in yellow yolk. Peanut butter foldovers are easier to clean up, though.

Well, I see the snow has stopped and the sun is a faint, muffled circle in the overcast.

Okay, fine, enough of the weather – here’s some hot air: I have said it before and I will say it again, I cannot tolerate people yelling between rooms. Absolutely cannot stand it. And I wish I had electric collars for folks and the remote control in my little hand.

Yell. ZAP. Yell. ZAP.

ZAP.ZAP . . . well, you looked as if you were going to yell.

I am at a lost at what to do today; to be honest, I am a lost at what to do first or how to find an excuse to do nothing. Need to get a refill for high blood pressure medicine and that means a trip to the Wal-Mart because they have it for a total of $8. Oh, and I do need deli rye bread. The big challenge about this is not to let anyone know I am heading to WM or I will hear, “Oh, pick up this and that . . . ” and receive cell phone calls about adding something else to the list.

Need to get my porch (bunker) straightened up . . . need to take Sydney to the fairgrounds, need to get over to the nursing home, need to run some lemi-shine through the dishwasher.

Whoa, there is a light bulb over my head – an idea – Yes! The answer is  “tomorrow”.  Okay, Der Bingle, I will take Sydney to the FG.

I am now the shortest one in the house; I have always been short. I don’t know if that is really accurate because I remember when I was under 12 people said I was going to be tall like my Aunt Dorothy. It didn’t pan out that way. In the day, as they are saying now, I used to be thin enough. Then I plumped out and it is a well-known  I now resemble a Weeble. For all I know, I may have morphed into a real Weeble . . . except I occasionally fall down.

It was in my genes:  shorty.

RATS

When I posted pictures in previous incarnations of WordPress, you could click on them and see an enlarged view. But then, in WordPress 2.7, you couldn’t.  I noticed this when I tried to click on the mother’s hand picture to see it in its truly scary alien form, but it just stayed the same. The axe was the same.  So, little WordPress people, I asked the question on Google and found a lot of people had been asking it, which made me feel as if I weren’t the only dull knife in the drawer. I am learned you must “link to image” manually now; it doesn’t do it automatically.

Such a little thing, but it makes me feel better. I used my resources and I got the answer. See, this is a bit of “Grandma speak” – you preach to “think things through”  and to “ask yourself what the story problem tells you and what do they want to know – it may tell you much more than you need” and to “not panic if you don’t know something but think of ways you can find it out” and so forth.

Of course, once Summer and I went through a carwash and I said, “Oh, we’re being eaten.” We continued the analogy of digestion throughout the ride and then we reached the end and the conveyor rolled us out. Summer and I looked at each other and I said, “Okay, this is an example of my not thinkging it through.” Then we giggled.