I’ve already gotten some good ideas from a couple of different people. One person pointed out that people visit Jester Queen for content anyway (which I considered a huge compliment) and I might consider going with a minimalist theme that didn’t rely on graphics. So, I sincerely want to know how you respond to the new (potential) design. Nothing is set in stone. Are the butterflies overwhelming? Do they fit? Is the header to your liking? What about the social media buttons? What about the placement of those social media buttons? What works for you about the theme? (That one is Weaver II, and whatever I do about design, I’ll probably be running with the Weaver II theme, as its versatility is right up my alley. The dog won’t be able to eat this theme so easily.) What doesn’t work about the theme? Do you have other ideas? (Ponying up money for design is not an idea I can take and run with just now – I’m limited to what I can do with my own two hands, though I can probably cough up the $30 for the Weaver II Pro theme.)
I haven’t got everything turned on. I don’t have anything going on in the footers yet over there, for instance, and I haven’t installed the plug-in that converts embedded post IDs to the posts themselves. If you could, please comment here (rather than over there) so I’ll have ideas in a single spot. But do let me know what you think!
In the city, we have to make due with what’s on hand.
But we’re resourceful.
Rest assured, wherever we grow, the bones get buried, carefully hidden and covered.
I love this dog. He drives me nuts. He’s clingy, he thinks he’s MY dog, and he licks his paws and tick-tacks down the hall too loudly. But seriously. Every day, he buries a new bone in Caroline’s Dora couch. And always with the same sense of relief and satisfaction. He’s also tried to use my husband’s students’ exam papers and the space beside an old filing cabinet. But neither of them brought him the same blatant joy.
Darcy stumped past her mother into the kitchen.
“You’re a teacher! You’re a role model now!.”
Darcy found a bowl, poured cereal and milk, then sat down opposite her father and took the top section of The City Star off the table between them. “Doesn’t seem like your business,” she finally said.
“What would your principal say if he found out?”
Darcy folded her newspaper back to the comics section. “OK, then. Let’s think about this another way, Mom. If you don’t want to see your daughter stripping, then don’t go in the club.”
This week, Velvet Verbosity wants to see a spectacle. E.B. White would be proud. Of Velvet V. Not Darcy.
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I just took some chocolate chip cookies to the neighbor’s house. Normally, I do that to express sympathy. I eat for comfort. Surely you do, as well. But today, I was saying, “Thank you.” We barely know these neighbors, a married couple with teen kids. In the three years we’ve lived here, we’ve exchanged maybe thirty words.
But when Sam jumped out of my car today, they drove Scott to the hospital so he could be with us sooner, rather than later.
Let me back up.
Sam had speech therapy this morning, and that went well. At the end, he spied the candy in Miss Becky’s cabinet, and I said OK, so she gave him a pixie stick. While I was talking to her, Sam left. As in walked out the front door, and headed across the parking lot. Let me just say, all that running and exercise I’ve been doing but hating? Today it all paid off for me. I booked it through the busy hospital parking lot at track runner speeds to catch that kid, and he was running all out, too.
The consequence for this behavior, which is unfortunately frequent, is the loss of a privilege, as well as having to walk back all the way to the beginning and repeat his walk with me. I try to stay low key at these times, firm but happy. “This is just how it is, and it’s not a big deal, and you need to remember.. .etc.”
The privilege he lost was the candy.
In the hospital (the therapy center is located inside a hospital), he started screaming for it back. I said he could earn it by walking with me the right way through the parking lot. He threw himself on the floor and said, “No, NOW.”
I said, “I’m walking to the car now. I love you. I hope you come with me.”
No dice.
So I picked him up to carry.
He started screaming and kicking, and then he wriggled loose again in the parking lot, and holy shit he nearly got killed. After the truck swerved around him, he sat down in one of the lot islands, in the middle of some grass. We eyed each other warily from either end of the island, and I called Scott to let him know that we needed backup from the psychiatrist.
Sam has a cold right now, and the good doctor has told us that the infection is basically screwing with his brain so that his medication isn’t helping him, reducing him to a pre-medicated state. But when we talked to him yesterday about Sam’s escalating behaviors, he said that if it got worse, he could prescribe something different on a temporary basis.
Standing in that green island, I was pretty sure it had just gotten worse. So I called Scott. And then Sam seemed to come around. If he wasn’t calm, he at least wasn’t running away.
Oh. There’s something you need to know first. After he nearly got killed, I blew the mental screw-it whistle and agreed to give him the candy anyway. Temper tantrum, whatever, not worth dying. He rejected the candy. I knew then it was a meltdown (temper tantrums end when you give the kid the desired object), and I should have realized the calm that followed was all kinds of wrong.
He was still carping, but I buckled him into the car and started out of the lot. The kid lock is turned on, so he can’t get out of his own door, and it wasn’t until I realized his gripe session had moved to his sister’s side of the vehicle that I saw he was out of his seatbelt. I looked back just in time to see him open his sister’s door (her kidlock is off, she being trustworthy enough not to pull shit like this). I slammed on the brakes and he jumped out onto the pavement.
I jumped out, too and we performed another mini-marathon through the hospital lot. Again. Exercise does have an upside. So does adrenaline. I caught him a second time without being winded. I had thrown my cell phone on the seat, so I couldn’t call anybody. We were on the other side of the parking lot, away from the hospital, and I had exactly one option left.
There is a doctor’s building across from the hospital, and I was nearby. It’s actually where Sam’s pediatrician’s office is located. I pinned Sam behind my back (easier than it sounds) and headed over there. This woman with a cell phone followed me the whole way. I actually and sincerely appreciated her concern. Sam looked like a kidnapping victim, and I am grateful to know that if somebody did try to take him, there are people brave enough to stand up and try to do what’s right.
I just wished she would have gotten close enough to beg for help. She lost interest when I walked straight into the doctor’s building with him, so I was left to stagger into the elevator, ride up a floor, and make my way to the pediatrician unaided.
I walked through the pediatrician’s door and said, “Help me,” and things moved fast. In rapid order, I was able to call the psychiatrist myself and talk to his receptionist while two nurses pinned Sam down for me in a room. And both the pediatric secretary and the psychiatric one agreed to call Scott. Also? The pediatric nurse went down and drove my car to a parking slot. Can anybody say “above and beyond the call?”.
In the end, Sam was so out of control that we had to squad him back across the parking lot to the emergency room. He finally came out of the melt about half an hour in, so that by the time the squad arrived, he was actually reasonably calm, and I could have probably carried him across. Hell, when we got to the hospital, he murmured, “I’m sorry I jumped out of the car, Mom,” in this miserable little contrite voice.
In the meantime, Scott got the message, but in garbled translation. He had two nurses telling him Sam was having a bad reaction, possibly to his meds. So his mind flew to allergic rather than behavioral reaction. Sam is taking an antibiotic (Cefzil) for the sinus infection that comes out of this cold. He has a penicillin allergy. As long as he isn’t part of an unfortunate 5% of the population, Cefzil should be OK for him to take. But when Scott heard “bad reaction”, he had some bad moments.
And his car was in the shop. He called a cab, but he wasn’t sure how long it would take to get to him, so he also went door to door asking for help. And that’s where the neighbors come in. This neighbor who barely knows us, agreed without a second thought to drive Scott to the hospital. The potential risk to themselves was outweighed by the desire to help.
And so I took them cookies. Because it’s all I can do to say thank you.
We’re all home now. The doctor has prescribed Sam the temporary medication (Risperidone). He was still unholy all afternoon. But he was unholy at home where our options for making him safe are so much greater than in the car. Today, we were helped by a whole variety of people who barely know us. Tomorrow, I’ve got a lot of cookies to bake. And tonight? Tonight, I’m drinking a glass of wine.
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Yes, things are better now. You can find out how much here Sam Part IV, and Fix You
Mama cat accepted the mackerel, but she did not purr for the wizard as she did for his apprentice Ehna and the girl Vee. The wizard went on. “The problem is that I need that demon. I must find a way to control him without driving him back again.”
Behind him, Vee snickered.
“You have an idea?” he asked, turning with one arched eyebrow. The girl immediately clapped both hands over her mouth as if that could conceal her smile. “Please, tell me. I would remind you that my livelihood, possibly my life depends upon a good plan right now.”
And then thirty degrees of wild laughter erupted from Vee’s tiny frame.
****
Later that day, Deen, Ehna, and Vee all arrived at the palace, where they were ushered quickly through to the king’s chambers. “Goddess beyond, Deen! What is that smell?” demanded the queen. “Have you found the antidote?”
Deen said, “Perhaps.” Then he bowed his obeisance to the king, prone and pale on the bed.
Vee cleared a table of documents, and Ehna carefully placed the cats’ cage. Although it was a tight fit for Mama cat and all four kits, apprentice and child both insisted that the animals ride together. Then, Ehna presented her majesty with a lilac scented rag, and carried more smelling cloths around to the assembled courtiers.
A page whispered, “It smells like cat piss,” into the room’s heavy silence.
From under his urine soaked robes, Deen produced the pristine demon box. “And if it saves his majesty’s life, does it matter?”
The queen said, “No. Not at all. I pray you begin at once.”
Things are getting pretty wild this week at Trifecta. It’s the perfect chance for all you party animals to come play!
As you know, Fudge died a couple of weeks ago at the age of eleven, and we’ve been dogless since. But we’ve been looking. We’ve visited the pound a couple of times, and we met a standout fellow they were calling Winston. My kids go to Churchill academy, so we figured it must be fate. (Churchill academy is indeed named for Sir Winston, and its motto, appropriate for kids on the spectrum, is “Never, never, never, never, never give up.”)
However, this dog has a new name, and it’s Chewie. Let me back up.
It stormed yesterday, and the power and internet went out for about 8 hours. OK five for the power. But it was still a long damned time, especially considering that Sam got sent home early for hurting people and we had to deal with him all that time. Nonetheless, rain and all, we grabbed Caroline at the end of her school day and went to get the dog.
The noise at the pound, which had previously only bugged Sam a little, sent him into a FRENZY. He was literally climbing around on my head. He whipped off Scott’s glasses, and things only improved when we had finally completed all the paperwork, and we were ready to leave. Then, he came home and screamed for two hours, ate a meal, waited an hour, screamed another hour, and went to sleep an hour late. OY.
The dog took that in stride. He paced around the house, smelled everything, smelled it again, went out and peed (as long as I came along), smelled everything, went out an pooped (same deal as the pee), and suddenly catapulted into his new crate, stole the bed and capered through the house with it in a ‘chase me’ sort of way. I took it back before he defluffed it, and replaced it with an appropriate woobie.
Ahem. Woobie was the nickname for dog chews growing up. It stuck. I’m sure it’s a derivative of Lovie, but even Madame Syntax doesn’t want to investigate that particular back story.
Anyway, as his confidence grew, so increased his interest in the household items. Over the course of the evening, I took away most of the shoes (I’ve lost Caroline’s somehow, and she’s had to wear ill-fitting ones today), every stuffed animal that had fallen out of bed, and various other pica objects he wanted to eat.
And then he flipped about sleeping in the crate and had to spend the night on Fudge’s old bed in our bedroom, so that when he woke at 5AM, I had to take him out to pee in the pouring rain. And then he didn’t go back to sleep, so I had to get up. And since I needed to sleep we ALL piled into the car to take the kids to school, I slept, Scott drove, and the dog sat happily between his children.
I ran out and bought him Rawhides (thank you Annette, Jenny, and Facebook!) and the chewing instantly found its proper focus. I also got him six million woobies to de-woobify. (That’s dee-w0o-buh-fy, with the “oo” pronounced as in “wood”.). Since then, we’ve been on a walk. Holy HELL, he knows “heel”? We’ve been out to pee several more times. (Still ‘we’). And he’s settled down for a long afternoon nap in the living room.
The HELL you do, bronco. It’s time to annoy the DOG. Take that Mr. 5AM.
The editors at Trifecta have given us a photo prompt this weekend. We are responding to a picture of a man carrying a shit-ton of luggage through some kind of a terminal, and for me, the central question is “Why does he have a carseat?“
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Julie would have met him at the airport. Brian could have turned around and been on the next flight. But it eased things for all of them if he took one extra day to say goodbye. Macy’s carseat thumped every time he swung his arms. But by bringing it to use in the rental, he held onto her fruit candy scent a little while longer after he went back home. Three months wasn’t enough.
At Julie’s, the kids threw themselves at their mother, then dashed out into the back yard with her giant dog. Julie said, “It sounds like they still get along really well with Cerise. Not as much of an adjustment as when I married Mark.”
“Like a house afire.” But Brian remembered those ‘adjustment’ calls. Trying to calm Josh from four hundred miles away without denigrating either his ex-wife or her new spouse to the children they held between them.
“That makes what I need to tell you a little easier, I guess.”
“And what would that be?”
“This travel is bad for the kids, Brian. We need to make it stop. We need to change our custody arrangement.” A thousand protests rose into his mind, but before he could voice them, Julie continued. “Mark starts a new job in October. It’s all travel. We’ll barely see him. It doesn’t matter where we live. We’re moving.”
“Moving where?” Brian tried to keep his voice level, but he knew it rose.
“To Galveston.”
“What?”
“If it wouldn’t make you and Cerise uncomfortable, we could even come to the same neighborhood. And I think it would be best for Josh to start the school year with you, even if Mark and I wind up living on the other side of town.”
Brian concealed his shaking hands by gripping Julie’s counter. The car seat. The luggage. Never again. In that moment, he loved his ex-wife more than he had for years before their divorce.
Here's Caroline in the observation car, looking out over the railing. She thought I was photographing the train and therefore didn't pose. I love the faraway look in her eyes. She stood like this for at least ten minutes while Sam chatted up the conductor behind us.
When I went down to the observation car to take pictures, Caroline had good reason to think I was photographing the train.. Seriously. I could take and look at pictures like this every day and never get tired of them.
This is a Cherokee fish trap. The stones are piled up in the middle of the river in the shape of a V with its wide end pointing upstream and its closure pointing downstream. These were hand stacked over 500 years ago, and yet the trap still stands. The women would go upstream and then start slapping the water to scare the fish downstream, where they would be forced into the fish trap, and the men could catch them in baskets.
No, we didn't ride in the engine. Wouldn't that have been cool? It was National Train day, and they had a number of free activities. One of those was this smaller tram style train. It was a John Deere no less. It took groups of maybe 20 people for ten minute excursions down the tracks. I sat in the very back of the car going out, which meant that I was in the very front coming back. The picture is so cool.
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This is my entry in the 100 word song. FINALLY! I haven’t played in too long.