OC Family - Moms. Kids. Life. - (Trampled by Zebras)

Using a Gluten-Free Diet For Autism Treatment

Tue, 17 Aug 2010 13:53:00 GMT

There is a theory in autism treatment that along with a sensory diet, kids with autism may benefit from eliminating gluten and dairy proteins (called casein and whey) from their diets. Gluten is found in grains and nearly all mass-marketed breads, cereals and baked goods. Casein is found in all milk products. Many kids with autism do not process dairy or gluten correctly, and over time, it can hurt their gut. Some refer to this as "silent celiac's disease." The scientific veracity of the diet won't be debated here. My son has been on the diet for over five years and we have seen improvement. Many families have seen success with the diet, but as with all things, your mileage may vary. If you think it might work for you or your child, here are some helpful hints to make the transition to a GFCF diet as painless as possible for all concerned.

* Don't throw away all the food in the house and buy GFCF…yet. Use what you have, but when you buy again, buy GFCF. You can check sites like TACA for acceptable foods and Hidden Ingredients for unacceptable ingredients. Familiarize yourself with the names of ingredients. Print out the list and keep it with you when you shop. Gluten and casein are in many foods you would never expect. Be a label reader!

* Keep a list of what you have tried so if you don't like it, you don't accidentally buy it again. There are some great products out there and some not so great. (you can email me if you would like...I would be happy to provide you with a list of foods from experience).

* Don't change brands of foods that are already "approved" foods. For instance, if the child likes waffles, buy GFCF, but don't change the brand of bacon you serve. Or keep the eggs the same style. Consistency is key. If you change bread, try toasting it and using the same peanut butter, if it is acceptable. Don't change the jelly.

* Find substitutes for tried and true foods. Finding gluten free foods is a lot easier than it used to be. Almost everything can be subbed out. The exception to this, sadly, is cheese. Many of the cheeses that say they are dairy free still have casein. Read your labels!

* When possible, involve the child in food choices. Teach him to read the labels and to understand what happens when he eats foods that his body doesn't tolerate well. Let him pick out some foods he would like to try, and involve him in their preparation. Kids are more willing to eat food they have helped prepare.

* Don't give in. Once you make a decision to try the diet, stick with it. It can take over six months for all traces of casein and gluten to leave the body. Give it a proper trial. The child might protest a bit, but keep at it.

* Make sure to provide a vitamin supplement so that the child is getting proper nutrition. Of course, the best vitamins are from the source food, but if the child won't eat it, vitamins are better than nothing. This is a good suggestion for all kids.

* Consider probiotics, which add good bacteria to the intestinal flora to balance the digestive system. But watch out that they don't contain hidden dairy!

* Limit processed sugars, and cut out artificial colors, flavors, HFCS (high fructose corn syrup) and preservatives from the child's diet when at all possible. These ingredients can cause problems for sensitive kids.

Some local sources of gluten free products follow, but be sure to check the ingredients list because gluten free is not necessarily casein free as well.

Whole Foods- Tustin (there is even a Special Diets page where you can download product lists)

Sprouts - list of locations in Orange County with map

Henry's - list of locations in Orange County with map

Trader Joe's - list of locations with map

Mother's Markets - list of locations in Orange County with map

Don't be too hard on yourself if it isn't perfect... you are learning and so is the child. The goal here is to transition to the diet, not be a Nutritional Hardnose. If you are stressed, the child will figure it out, and he will become stressed as well. With a bit of practice, you will be an excellent label reader and have a collection of foods that work for your child and maybe for you, as well.

This was a serious post, but don't get used to it. The funny can be found at Send Chocolate Now.

My Life is a Circus, So Why Not Attend One?

Wed, 04 Aug 2010 01:00:00 GMT

What do you do when the kids are fighting and the dog won't listen to you and you can't find your favorite shoe and you are running late? If you are crAZY, like me? Why, you attend the circus, of course. Nothing like a dog and pony show to make you realize how easy your life is, yeah?

So,Wednesday night, we piled into the car, and on the way stopped for what we hoped would be a quick bite at McDonalds (yeah, I know, but we were out of time). It took 15 minutes and the fries still weren't ready. In exasperation, I got my money back. I was really nice about it, and didn't mention that I was a blogger. The same could not be said for the woman next to me. She announced, rather grandly, for all to hear that she was a blogger and that everyone reads her, and she got FREE tickets to the circus, and they were premium seats... really? How come I have never heard of you? Why aren't you part of Blog Crush? Why haven't I seen you at events? On twitter? Orange County bloggers are tight...so you couldn't be that "famous." Really? This is how you want bloggers to be represented? Because you are giving them a bad name. Act thankful, for cheese and crackers! You aren't owed these perks because you are a blogger. You are given a privilege. And don't forget it. I never do. It could end tomorrow. And guess what? I would still be writing. Because? I am not in it for the free crap. I write because I love it. Can "review blogs" say the same?

After what amounted to dinner (the kids ate the burgers without fries.I inhaled half of my pukeburger in the car on the way there), we hightailed it to the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus at Honda Center. We got there just in time for the pre-show, and posed for a picture. (Did I mention that my JBean is afraid of clowns? And look what she did.

This year's show, Funundrum, took its cue from other big-ticket productions like The Lion King and Cirque Du Soleil. With music, special effects and the standard circus-y acts, the show was updated for the fickle audience our children have become. Video games, cable tv and big-budget blockbusters have conspired to erode family events like the circus. But you wouldn't know it. Opening night, the place was packed.

My kids really enjoyed it, and that's what it's all about. This isn't your father's circus, anymore. While I found some of the show forced, the kids oohed and aahed over the elephants, the Ringmaster, the trapeze. And seeing their faces made it worth the time for me.

You can go, too!

Take the whole family to Barnum’s FUNundrum…MOM Discount extended to include weekend performances!

Family 4-Pack of tickets $48
Regular ticket prices - $15, $20, $25
To redeem, use code MOM by phone at 1-800-745-3000 or online at Ticketmaster.com to redeem your savings!

fine print:

(Savings do not apply to Circus Celebrity, Front Row and VIP seats. No double discounts. Service charges and handling fees may apply.)

Have fun!

Tina thinks her life is a lot like a dog & pony show. Come see if you agree at Send Chocolate Now.

I didn't get paid to write this. I was given tickets to the circus, though.

Do you think she has a career in stand-up comedy?

Thu, 17 Jun 2010 00:27:00 GMT

In this house, humor is not optional, it's a survival technique. You don't get very far unless you can learn to laugh at yourself and your circumstances. Life = humor. I cannot imagine not being able to giggle or snicker or guffaw and at times even belly laugh at the crazy things that happen in this family. Of the things I want to give to my children, an appreciation for humor (if not an outright sense of it) is very near the top of the list.

They say that kids with autism don't have much of a sense of humor. I think those that say it don't quite understand autism all that well. My daughter, the oldest one, is pretty funny. (not as funny as me, but give her some time and experience) My son isn't hilarious, but he understands jokes. Sometime around his 8th birthday, he started understanding sarcasm (which means he can actually live in this house, because…yeah.) and started making puns. (again, a staple in this family). It was a lot of fun to watch.

I had forgotten all of that until last night, when JBean cracked her first joke. She gets jokes, but hasn't really told her own. Tonight, she was lying next to the cat and she said, "Watch the cat's new trick. Then, to the cat: Play dead!" The cat, who was lounging in a way that only cats can, sans bones and macramaed into the carpet, didn't move. JBean giggled and said, "Isn't that the funniest thing, ever?" Which tells me two things:

1) she is maturing and beginning to get sophisticated humor

2) Her Jane Austenesque speech patterns can be blamed on an older sister who is obsessed with Jane Austen and has dragged her younger sister along for the ride.

3) Life is about to get very interesting, with lots of "How many _____ does it take to change a lightbulb?" and knock-knock jokes. I suppose fart jokes and belching the alphabet can't be far behind. And of course, her brother can absolutely tutor her in those particular genres.

I'm SO proud.

Tina says a funny thing happened while writing this blog post. Her home for funny on the web is Send Chocolate NOW. She promises very few fart jokes. Puns are fair game, however.

Raise your hand if you are a dental coward

Fri, 04 Jun 2010 00:44:00 GMT

I have had a life-long fear of the dentist since I was a teenager, I think. I would break out in a cold sweat at the thought of visiting a dental office. Which is kind of ironic, because my mother is more fearful than I am. She wanted to be sure that her children wouldn't end up with the same phobia, so she worked hard to find a good dentist. And she did. Dr. Howard was an avuncular boisterous man, and I liked him. No worries, so far. My mother insists that I refused to get braces, but I don't remember it that way. Still, it was a good experience. I didn't mind having my teeth cleaned, and didn't have much fear. The problem came when I had to have my wisdom teeth out at 18. With a different dentist. I developed an allergy to the pain medication and wound up so sick I lost 14 lbs. in a week. I had a dry socket, which means the blood didn't clot and the nerve was exposed to air. I popped Tylenol like candy for a while. Until my dentist introduced me to clove oil, and instantaneous pain relief.

I did really well for a long time, going to the dentist when I needed to, maybe not getting regular cleanings, but does anyone? After my second child was born, I had to have a root canal. And the experience was as bad as I had imagined. The sensory nightmare of the shots, the drill, the cement, all of it, was enough to put me off dentists for a long time.

A few years back, I broke a tooth, and had to have another root canal. I didn't have a regular dentist at that point, so I went to what I term a "chop shop." I had a very intense panic attack outside the office that day. Still, I went through with it, mainly because I had incredible pain from an abscess and it had to be dealt with or I was going to jump off of a bridge. I ended up with an ill-fitting crown, that they redid twice. It was still never right.

Soon after that, we found an amazing dentist. His office is decorated in Craftsman style, warm woods, cool lights and just an aura of relaxation. Entering, I was still terrified, but intent on making sure my children have good dental care. I eased them into it, and would sit in the room with them as they received their treatments, constantly It served to help me be less skittish. had to have two teeth pulled by an oral surgeon, which was awful, and did nothing for my dental phobia. But I was convinced I needed to get over my fears, and I pushed myself to do so.

I needed a lot of work, but over time, it was all done. Now, I am in my last phase, and wearing Invisilign to straighten out my overbite and stop me from grinding my teeth at night. And I see the dentist monthly. My phobia is completely gone. I still don't like dental procedures, but I no longer cry. I am quite proud of my courage and sticktuitiveness.

My kids love the dentist, and see him regularly. This is a feat accomplished with kids who have autism. Dental fears are right up there as far as fears go. But the process of spending time with our dentist (who also goes to our church and works in the childrens' department with my kids) My youngest, JBean, went from terror to looking forward to seeing him. That's a testimony to a great dentist.

My dentist is worth his weight in gold. And that's about how much I pay him. I wouldn't have it any other way.

photo source

Tina writes about life, including fears at her blog, Send Chocolate Now. She says that sometimes parenting is a lot like pulling teeth. Minus the bloood.

Comparing Oranges and...Real Life?

Thu, 20 May 2010 02:26:00 GMT

I just want to get this straight. I live in the real Orange County.

Not the Orange County with the multi-million dollar houses. I don't live behind a locked gate, sipping vodka martinis in a hot tub. I haven't had any "work" done, besides the standard semi-exercise to keep my butt from sagging to my knees. I like yoga, and I flirt with Pilates, and I suck at karate, but don't have a personal trainer, and certainly not one with a six-pack named Del or Hans or Antony. I own a scale, but I never look at it. I would rather poke out an eye than to let anyone near my face with a syringe full of toxin, image bedamned.

I am not a Lady of Leisure. The only ones I lunch with are the ones who are in my charge. I have three kids, and they keep me hopping. I load my own dishwasher, and can't rationalize paying someone else to clean the hair out of my tub when I am home all day. (if you want to, that's cool, I just have that liberal guilt thing that plagues me). I don't play tennis, or belong to a country club. My big night out is dinner and a movie with my software-engineer husband.

I realize this kills the Dream for some of you. Watching The O.C. as they prance on the beach makes you believe that we all live that way. Sorry to disappoint. I don't surf. In fact, my children barely swim. I own a pass for the beach but hardly ever get there. It's only twenty minutes away, but it might as well be fifty miles. Life is busy. I drive my paid-for minivan to the grocery store and to ballet and to karate. We live in a little 50's ranch house small but cozy. We budget. Tonight for dinner? Hot dogs. So much for the romance, eh? I do live five minutes from The Happiest Place on Earth, and we have annual passes, so that has to count for something. But it isn't what you envision.

If you ever saw Bravo airing "The Real Housewives of Orange County" then you saw someone's fantasy, and definitely not my reality, or that of my friends. Recently I watched a rerun, and I snorted and guffawed my way thorough it. It was ridiculous, it was a train wreck; it was entertainment. Reality is is reality, and television is television. But reality television is not reality.Laguna Beach is an great little bedroom arts community, not a hotbed of immorality for teens. And I have no idea where "The Hills" even are.

Just remember...When you watch Supernanny or Wife Swap or The Real Housewives of Orange County or Atlanta or wherever the hell they are this season…keep in mind . It's not real life for 98% of the people you know. Being a fly on the wall in my real life, well you wouldn't really believe it. No one could write it, and you would not want to watch it. Trust me. Just thought you should know.

photo of her girls taken by Bobbie Schafer.

Despite not living in a mansion by the sea, Tina is mostly happy. Come see her home on the web, which is also not a mansion.

The One where I get schooled...again

Wed, 12 May 2010 00:01:00 GMT

Homeschooling can be a lot of fun. What? Stop laughing, no really. I mean, the times I lie awake at night worried that my son can't do Algebra and my daughter can't read well enough are just a million laughs. The stress and responsibility I feel when it seems the kids cannot function academically, socially or behaviorally the way I believe they should, well, it makes me want to drink. And I am not talking about Tang or Milk here, either. Send Mama a martini!

Often, though, when I feel like I have reached my limit…when I think I am doing my children a great disservice by schooling them at home and that they would be better off in a public school setting, with all of its weaknesses and the lack of placement for higher-functioning autism/Asperger's? Well,the kids go and make cognitive leaps, seemingly overnight. Almost like they have to prove me wrong. They show me that it isn't that bad, and that it always gets better. Or, you drink. Something the kids didn't show me. And just an aside, I talk about drinking, but do very little of it. It doesn't make a very good coping mechanism, to be honest. Karate works better. And yoga. And screaming. In the car, with the windows up. By myself. I tried it once with the kids in the car, and they flipped out. Thought I grew two heads. Note to self: save the theatrics for alone time, mama!

In any case, I have been laboring over my daughter's lack of reading fluency. This week, JBean started to read. And she did it the way her brother did…which is what I kept telling myself, even as I second-guessed her progress. "She will get there, and it will seem almost overnight." This is my wakeup mantra when I want to close the book on the whole homeschool experiment. One morning she woke up, wanted to read with me. I obliged. One hundred pages of Dick & Jane later? She is finally a reader, in her own mind. I knew she could read, but she didn't want to call herself a reader, she thought she wasn't "good enough." Yes, she read all of those pages in one morning, and was still rarin' to go when I called No Joy and begged for a break. My ears were tired!

This morning, needing an audience for her newest parlor trick, she waylaid Poppy, our pup, to show her what she had learned. And, as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words:

So. I will keep homeschooling my children, because I believe that it works best for our family. They will continue to do outside activities and lessons and we will treasure this time together. They will grow and mature, and continue to trust themselves, as I try not to undermine that. And we will continue to love one another. That is, when we aren't wanting to hurl Nerf darts at one another. Although, now that I think about it...that could work. We'll just call it P.E. Kids need P.E. don't they? What did I do with that blasted Nerf gun?

Tina's education is ongoing. Want to learn with her? Send Chocolate Now! is her other home on the web. Drop by!

A fairy, a fort and a kiss..

Sat, 01 May 2010 02:33:00 GMT

One of the best things about homeschooling is that my kids have the opportunity to explore the things they are most interested in. JBug plays the piano, completely self-taught. She isn't a concert pianist, but she can play what she hears and likes. Pretty impressive.

On Friday, she held an impromptu photo shoot with her siblings. These are her pictures, taken completely by her...I just did a bit of photo tweaking. Clearly, she has an eye for photography, as well as an ear for music. Artistic, much? I will let the pictures speak for themselves, so no wordy narration this time.

What's better than kissing your brother? Making him grimace while doing it!

I enjoyed sharing these pictures with you..I hope you enjoyed seeing them.

Tina loves to take fun pictures of her children, and clearly, that love is wearing off on them! Visit her other home on the web, Send Chocolate Now if you want to see more pictures.

Proof my children are a pain in the butt

Thu, 22 Apr 2010 01:35:00 GMT

This week I had the supreme pleasure of visiting Pelican Hill Resort for Mom's Day Off with my girls, the bloggers from OC Family. I brought the kids with me, and they spent the day at Camp Pelican, the kids' club…keeping the kids occupied so mama could relax with a massage and a beautiful luncheon= WIN!

When I arrived, I drove up to the front of the hotel, a beautiful property, located on the ocean, and the valet took one look at my 2001 van that has seen better days and said, "May I help you?" Giving me a level stare, it was clear he thought I was lost. Ah, but I have learned how to deal with this! I was not about to let this youngster intimidate me! I confidently told him where I was going, and if he didn't warm up, he at least thawed a bit. As I opened the door to get the kids out, I prayed all of the flotsam that accumulates in the back would stay put and not find its way onto the pristine cobblestones below. The god of Minivan Crap heard my prayer. The jetsam stayed in the no man's land that is my van. Of course, the valet parked my car out of sight so as not to besmirch the Bentleys and Mercedes that were draped all over the circular drive.

Once inside the spa, though, the attitude changed completely! Everyone was so wonderful at this award-winning spa. I headed to the locker room, and changed into my robe and slippers, then was escorted to the waiting room before treatment was to begin. It was a luxurious and relaxing place, and as I sipped warm tea, enjoyed the soft lights, fresh flowers and water features, I didn't want to leave. I was booked for a massage, and soon Gregory, my therapist, came to get me to begin. I was taken aback because this man was the size of a linebacker on a pro football team! But he had very gentle hands, with just the right amount of pressure. As he was massaging me, my body started to relax and I swear, I needed to pass gas. I was lying there, trying to will myself not to do so, also trying to relax at the same time. And then? He started massaging my hands, and I swear this is true, he pulled my finger! Well, now if you had a dad, you would know what happens when you pull his finger, right? Just me? So the conditioning set in, and I found myself silently praying I would "remain silent" and not just let one go. My prayer to the Anti-Flatulence gods was answered. Thankfully, I was spared that particular embarrassment!

I did find, though, that my glutes "needed work". (that's "butt muscles" for those of us that are fitness-lingo-impaired). I wear the Skechers Shape Up shoes, and apparently, I wear them too much, because my butt was really, really tight. (I always thought it was good to have a tight butt?!)Also, I seem to carry my tension in my uh..backside.the jokes here just write themselves...it's just too easy. Since the muscles never really get a chance to relax, it can cause back problems. And as he was getting those particular muscles to release (which meant pushing on my butt cheeks as hard as he could…ow!) all I could think is, "This is proof my children are a pain in my posterior!" Yeah, that. In any case, an hour later, and sufficiently pulled, prodded and pummeled into pudding, the warm, gooey kind, I decided that I was going to take Gregory home and hide him in my closet. Once I go back again, I am totally going to steal him.

The massage was followed by refreshments afterwards, and a quick dip in the jacuzzi (with a disposable bikini swim suit…the less said about that the better!) But of course, I cannot do anything that is "less".. so suffice it to say, I haven't worn a bikini since oh… 1989? Of course, the alternative was to go in au naturel and that just isn't my thing. This isn't the Eighties, and I am NOT 21 anymore. I wear clothes now. Almost always.

After we were dressed, we headed over to the Coliseum Grill for an amazing salad with grilled prawns the size of a baby's fist. No, really. We also met Kim, our editor and Steve, the Big Cheese, head honcho CEO with a sense of humor from Churm Media..responsible for our OC Family and other local publications. We had quite the nice chat. Steve was a very good sport, hanging out with bloggers who are known for candor. His education has now begun regarding tampons and using Facebook while in the bathroom.(Beckey called it a "Facebook Dump"). We ended the meal with tiramisu gelato and coffee, and more laughter. It was wonderful. Some of the girls were able to experience a post-lunch sit in their own private cabana with a view of the ocean. Which makes me wonder…did it come with a cabana boy? Sadly, though, it was time for me to go home, I didn't want to push my kids too far with a new experience. I felt I needed to get them home. Turns out, they would have loved to have stayed longer. Who knew?

The entire experience surpassed my expectations. The massage I had was the best of my life. I can completely understand how much of their client base is local. Though they are expensive, they would inspire loyalty from the repeat visitors. Some even come to the spa three times a week! I cannot even imagine. Nevertheless, it was a joy to be able to see what I am missing by not being able to live the "spa lifestyle." My kids have informed me that we need to "get rich" so they can go back to Camp Pelican. They were given parting gifts, which they thought were the coolest thing, ever. The care they received there made all the difference. I was able to completely relax knowing they were in good hands. I do plan to visit again, as a bit of a treat to myself when I can. I wonder if I could sell my children to finance that particular endeavor? Worth a try, right?

I was not paid to write this post, but I did receive an absolutely heavenly massage. I liked it so much, I wrote about it.

Tina needs lots more massages. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Send Chocolate Now is her home on the web...proof of the above

Postcards From the Edge

Tue, 20 Apr 2010 00:17:00 GMT

with apologies to Carrie Fisher...
You know how we went to New Zealand over a month ago? We were gone for sixteen days, then I came home, readjusted and moved forward. While I was there, I sent four postcards to my home address here in the states. I sent the postcards from the Blue Penguin Colony in Oamaru, to Fullerton, in Southern California, where I live. They were sent as far as I can remember, we mailed them around Feb. 20th. I waited and and waited for them to show up in my mailbox once I got home. I finally gave up.

Yesterday, guess what I found in the mailbox. Apparently, it takes SIX WEEKS to get from the south island of New Zealand to the west coast of the United States. Now, I am a pretty easy-going person, but I think this is ridiculous. It's approximately 7,000 miles from here to Oamaru... but should it really take SIX weeks for a postcard to get here? Was it on the slow boat?

Apparently, some parts of the postal service in New Zealand is privatized. I am thinking they aren't very efficient. And some say that the U.S. should privatize mail as well. can you imagine, waiting SIX weeks to get a post card? More importantly, what about time-sensitive mail?

It was surreal to find those postcards in the mailbox, after I had given up on them. And it made me think, what else might just show up out of the blue?

that library book I lost and paid for when I was twelve. I think it was The Endless Steppes
my keys, in 1988. They were on a Pooh Bear keychain, with a purple pom pom and a "Yes, I know I'm sexy" key fob. I lost them in a dive bar called Doc Rickett's, in Monterey. Pretty sure I lost my dignity there, too. But I don't really remember. That's probably not recoverable...
JBug's cell phone. Yes, it's missing. Again.
most of my spoons, that have disappeared from the silverware drawer. WHERE have they gone?
all of the mates to the socks that I wash together, and they come out alone
most of the stuff I put away when my parents came to visit and now seems lost forever in the no mans' land that is my closet
my mind
the pithy and witty ending to this post. Cause I got nothin.

Yeah I should have quit while I was ahead...

Tina is often on the edge. She doesn't usually send postcards, though. Instead, you have to read her blog, Send Chocolate Now. It won't even cost you postage. Maybe chocolate.

KaBoom! I built a playground in Inglewood

Tue, 06 Apr 2010 12:16:00 GMT

I had the privilege of participating in the Kaboom! playground build in Inglewood. In case you haven't heard of KaBoom!, it's a non-profit organization that builds playgrounds in neighborhoods. They provide support and guidance, as well as lining up corporate sponsors for communities who want to build a playspace or upgrade their playground equipment.

In an all-day build, members of communities are able to completely transform a site into a playground. This time, we performed a badly needed upgrade, from equipment that wasn't safe for play. From 9-3 over 220 people from the City of Inglewood, Los Angeles Fire Department, Youth Build and a crew of mom bloggers, of which I was one, descended on Inglewood with one goal: create a great space for kids. Center Park in Inglewood is now the proud owner of the resulting playground. In the space of seven hours, playground equipment was built, including a large climbing structure with climbing wall and bridges, slide and swings. Seven tons of concrete were mixed, two tractor-trailerfuls of mulch was shoveled (some of it by me and JBug!) and moved onto the playground.

With Reverend Run attending with his wife and daughters, 220 volunteers and local school children watched and cheered at the ribbon cutting ceremony concluding the build. KaBoom has built 1748 playgrounds, and Koolaid has sponsored 26 of those buildsKaBoom wants to help your community, too. What can you do? You can map the playgrounds in your area and provide pictures. You can get support and information in starting your own community build. You can donate money. And yes, you can even join a local build. KaBoom! has a vision: a safe place to play within walking distance for every child. It's a huge undertaking, and they need our help.

This was one of the most rewarding things I have done in a long time, and I recommend attending a build if you have the opportunity. Not only will you have an amazing experience, you will also be left with a wonderful feeling of accomplishment. Few things felt as good as seeing the childrens' faces when they saw their playground for the first time. It made my aching back worth it, even into the the next morning, when I awoke with the confirmation that I am not twenty-one anymore.

More check-ins at KaBOOM KoolAid Playground Build

Tina enjoys being active in the community, but figures she should stick to shoveling words and not dirt. Much easier on the body. You can visit her at Send Chocolate Now.

Max Bloom's is Fullerton's own local coffeehouse

Sun, 21 Mar 2010 00:35:00 GMT

Coffee is a passion for me and I am always on the look out for a good cup. Recently, I found myself in a little-known coffee house in Fullerton. Down a small alley on a not-well-traveled side street off Harbor Blvd. is Max Blooms Cafe Noir, a newly opened treasure. Entering into the store is like going back in time.

Part museum, part coffee house, the love of 1940's era is everywhere: from the vintage photos of Fullerton, the antique typewriter as well as the antique piano that is still played in the establishment today, the joint oozes atmosphere. You expect Mickey Spillane to step out of the shadows any minute. Mixed about with the authentic film-noir era movie posters, you will find an eclectic collection of movies for sale. It's a sort of rental system, buy the movie for $15, and they buy it back from you for $12. A bank of theatre seats faces a television and a shelf of books ranging from "Husband-Tested Recipes," an old paperback cookbook from the era, and a ton of books on old films and directors. It's the kind of place you can spend some time exploring. There's even a map to point out pieces in the collection.

Everywhere you look is a testimony of the labor of love that is Max Bloom's. And the coffee? Oh, the coffee!

Like nothing you have tasted. Roasted personally by owner Stephen Sprague, it is smooth, and toasty without a hint of bitterness. I am still dreaming of the amazing mocha latte I had. It was perfect. Smooth, creamy, with a touch of chocolate, and in a mug, no less! My husband had the regular coffee, and it was just as good. And where can you get a cup of joe for $ .89? Coffee is a passion for Stephen, and it shows.

Coffee is serious business. He explained to me how to make the perfect cappuccino, and why they don't travel well. (the perfect capp is 1/3 espresso, 1/3 milk and 1/3 foam...so you can't make it to go). He can make you a latte, though. And it will be the best you have ever had.

And, with bakery treats and a refrigerator stocked with old-fashioned sodas, they have something for everyone. But don't forget your wallet, because Max Bloom's only takes cash.

If you are tired of big-chain coffee, maybe you need to stop in and see Max Bloom.

Max Bloom's Cafe Noir

220 N. Malden Ave

Fullerton, CA 92832

(714) 871-2600

CASH ONLY

No compensation or product was received for this post. It's just my opinion.

Tina is all about coffee. And chocolate. She blogs at Send Chocolate Now. Really. Send Chocolate.

It's not all flowers and rainbows with autism

Sat, 06 Mar 2010 00:44:00 GMT

"Mama, I don't LIKE it!" My JBean wasn't happy. Although this is not that uncommon, it was still a concern. The Nutcracker was coming up, and she was due to perform.

Last year, she was a flower. "I liked being a flower mama. Flowers are graceful, and princess-y. It was a pretty dance."
This year, she was a lamb. She was less-than-thrilled.
"I hate the Lamb Dance! It's stupid. The costume is silly, I look like a little kid."
I figured reminding her that is indeed what she is? Not so helpful.

Early on, I told her she didn't have to dance if she didn't want to. The Stage Mother? I am the furthest thing from that person. You won't see me pushing my children against their will. I have a theory about extra-curricular activities: if it isn't fun, what's the point? This may be because I was, if not born with two left feet, in possession of them now. Dancing well is hard for me, and I don't have autism. Still, if I were to try to dance, with actual choreography, you would think I was having a seizure of some sort.

I have given her every opportunity to bow out gracefully. She won't be a prima ballerina; she is still in the first-level class. All of her friends have pretty much moved up a level. She just isn't ready. As a parent, my heart hurts just a little bit for her. I worry as she gets older, girls will make fun of her. But she won't quit. She assures me that she wants to dance. And she does. She just doesn't love this dance. Still, she is trying, and that's all we can ask. To me, that in itself is a victory.

This Spring, she again will dance. This time, she will be a rainbow. She will wear a pastel-colored tutu. She wasn't excited about the costume, but she'll get used to it. And I have decided to get her some private lessons to get her "over the hump." I am optimistic that she may improve. She told me she was passionate about her dancing. I guess it is good to be passionate...do you really have to be good at something to love it?

Tina has two left feet and the right attitude, usually. Chocolate helps. She also blogs on Send Chocolate Now.

Car bingo, penguins and marriage

Fri, 26 Feb 2010 03:12:00 GMT

With Valentine's Day behind us, I've had time to reflect a little on my relationship with my husband. What keeps two people still so much in love after twenty years? I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I know what is working for us. Of course, we are a work in progress, but so far, so good! A key component to our relationship? Humor. NEVER never never take yourself too seriously.
I have a prime example of our relationship. When we were in New Zealand, we invented a brand new travel game to pass the time. Though the South Island is beyond beautiful, there isn't a lot to see to keep your brain busy, so some creativity is in order.

JNerd and I invented New Zealand Car Bingo. The rules are simple. There are five items in this game, short and sweet. Simply call out the item, and see who's first. Because you'll see one of the five at least every few miles, it passes the time. See who's faster. Then laugh. A lot. A variation is to call out the items in a dead-pan voice, a la Monty Python. Laughter is still required, however.

Cow

Sheep

Tractor

Old Church

Statue/War Memorial

Honorable mention goes to the obligatory statue of Queen Victoria in every major city that we visited. Either in the botanic gardens, or in the middle of a park...there she was, towering over everyone. Victorian era, indeed.

No matter where we went, these items were ever-present. It livened up the drive (which was beyond gorgeous anyway) and allowed JNerd and I to loosen up and enjoy playing together. It's amazing to me how much we had forgotten how to play. But it is like riding a bicycle...it comes back. Over the two weeks we were together, we rediscovered how much we like each other, and how much fun we have together. I wish we had more opportunities, but I know that we will both make more of an effort to just loosen up and have fun. Because it made us young, and silly.
One of my very favorite animals is the penguin. They are awkward little guys. Slow and clumsy-looking on land, but lithe and amazing in the water. As if that's not enough, most species mate for life. I just love the romanticism season after season of the same female pairing up with the same male to make more babies. (I don't want any more babies, but I can appreciate that they might). There is something endearing about finding one another over and over again. Sounds like marriage. I wonder if penguins laugh, too?

I remembered (and I hope he did, too) "Hey, I like you, you're a blast to hang out with!" And isn't that why we married in the first place?

When was the last time you did something special with the significant person in your life? Tell us about it in comments.

all pictures taken by me except Cow (have you ever tried to take a picture of a cow, from a moving vehicle?) Cow picture by FelixLaCat used under a cc license Share-Alike 2.0

Tina likes being silly and yelling goofy things out of car windows. She left her heart in New Zealand, but lucky for you, she still has her writing jones and her funny bone is intact. Send Chocolate Now is where to find her daily adventures.

A magical night at the O.C. Performing Arts Center

Sat, 20 Feb 2010 13:47:00 GMT

Last night I took the kids to see a new play at the Orange County Performing Arts Samueli Theater. The Samueli Theater is an earnest and intimate little theater, perfect for the show we were to see. This performance was part of a series that Orange County Performing Arts is doing for families this season.

It takes a lot for me to drag the kids out to a play, upset routines, get dinner on the run and just generally subject us all to the unknown. Don't get me wrong, I love live theater with a passion. But getting kids with autism out the door who are used to their own routines and a set bedtime can be a trick. Of course there was the obligatory complaining about dinner not being "right" and having to park and walk and a myriad of other reasons that keep me company, but once the show started, the kids settled down. We were not disappointed.

The Man Who Planted Trees, is a very sweet hour-long play about a man who plants trees and his dog. Told in a cast of three, Jean, Dog and the man who planted trees, the story is a chronicle of a friendship spanning forty years and two world wars, a region of France that is dead and dying, and the vision of one man who wants to make a difference. Elzeard Buffier quietly sowed seeds, ultimately transforming the area from a wasteland to a beautiful, thriving forest for all. As the narrator tells the story of his first meeting with Buffier, the basic props on stage are transformed into a different world. Adapted from the book by Jean Giono, and written by Richard Medrington and Rick Conte, the show has an environmental message for today, though the book was written decades ago. It translates well for today.

What makes this show so winning is Dog, the puppet used to keep pacing and the childrens' interest alive. Manned by Rick Comte, Dog adds heart and comedy relief. There is no attempt to hide the puppeteer, no pretense. The animal's mouth in fact, is sometimes out of sync with the words. But none of that matters, it's still magical. The pacing of the show is very good, and just when attentions start to wander, (as with children often happens) Dog comes out and with bits, some that must be improvised, sends everyone into peals of laughter. Energy expended, they are ready to get back to the gentle story of a man who made a difference.

Another touch of the show that is unusual is its multi-sensory storytelling. You don't just see, you smell the lavender. You feel the rain. Birds fly overhead. This is why a smaller venue is key. The play actually involves the audience.

The award-winning Puppet State Theatre Company originated in Scotland and have performed the show all over the UK, Ireland, Bermuda, Kuala Lumpur and off Broadway in New York City. They have just kicked off a 4 month tour in North America. While in Scotland, the show played to sold out audiences for years before coming to Costa Mesa last night.

I brought my 8 year old and my 11 year old son and they both loved the show. Dog steals the spotlight and seems to come up with some lines just to make the narrator laugh. At one point, he mentioned he was a puppy in an acting school for dogs in the Eighties, seeming to take the narrator by surprise. There was genuine laughter. It was a thoroughly enjoyable performance.

These days where high-tech everything has invaded our kids' imaginations, Broadway musicals are lavish and splashy, the simple story-telling elegance of The Man Who Planted Trees is a gem not to be missed. Children and adults alike can enjoy the show together, laughing at the same things. There is no "adult subtext" in this play with parents laughing over jokes the kids don't get. It is just a very simple story told in an intriguing way for all to share. I give it 5 out of 5.

The Man Who Planted Trees runs 4 shows from February 19-21 at Orange County Performing Arts Center. Tickets are $18.

photo copyright Puppet State Theatre Company

want more? Tina can also be found on her personal blog, Send Chocolate Now.

I brought baggage home from vacation

Fri, 12 Feb 2010 19:07:00 GMT

My suitcase is heavy. It sits, crouched in my room, next to the closet. I haven't had the nerve to unpack it yet. Pregnant with unrealized dreams, frustrations and what could have been, I try to ignore it. I don't do a very good job. Every time I walk into the room, there it is.

Sixteen days. Seems like a lifetime ago. That's when I bid my children goodbye, climbed into my father-in-law's car and drove to the airport with my husband. I had high hopes, but didn't really know what to expect. We hadn't been away together for any length of time since the children were born. We were ready.

And it was wonderful. Awesome, even. We drove down the coast of New Zealand, stopping wherever our hearts lead us. We had no agenda, and no qualms about enjoying the company of one another. Memories were made that will last a lifetime. That's the problem.

I had to come home. And I can't see home the same anymore. I have never been anywhere longer than a weekend alone with my husband. Twenty years, we have been married. Our oldest child is going on sixteen. I have never allowed myself to consider what life would have been like without my children. It is what it is, is my motto, why push it? But for sixteen glorious days, I was not a mother. I was just…me. With him. And it was wonderful. My heart was full. No tethering to others' needs or whims. I was free. It couldn't last, and it didn't.

I had thirteen hours en route to LAX to forget that bliss; to morph back into a mother who puts her children first again. But those shoes aren't fitting very well. I am aware that makes me an awful, selfish person. And it is why my suitcase is heavy. It is a constant reminder of what I had. And unpacking it means I will ferret it away into a closet, forgetting what it was like to live from it for weeks. Unpacking would be putting to rest the adventurer and the free spirit I was two weeks ago. And I am just not ready to do that.

And the guilt? The guilt is palpable. I can taste it on my tongue, metallic and bitter, like I need to brush my teeth. I want to be that mother again, but I don't know how. I almost wish I had never gone, because now? Now I am back. And I know what I am missing, every minute, of every day.

My suitcase is heavy, but not as heavy as my heart.

If you know what it is to struggle as a parent, join Tina at Send Chocolate.
photo copyright, Tina Cruz. cc license.

This is not a list of New Year's Resolutions

Tue, 09 Feb 2010 13:41:00 GMT

I hate New Year's Resolutions. Who actually keeps those resolutions, anyway? When I was younger, I would make myself promises and pretend I would keep them. I would finally start going to the gym every other day. I would spend my money more wisely. I did well, until around March. Then I would start slacking off. I didn't mean to do so, but I just didn't stick with it. It always started with just little things at first. I would miss that day at the gym, and promise myself I would be back with the program the next day. But once the commitment was broken, it was that much easier to just let it go. So I stopped the resolutions. But I have thought about it, and there are some commitments that just need to be kept. (better late than never)

I am not sure I have told you all this (yes I have) but I am a bit domestically challenged. I was meant for bigger things, I guess. I am busy writing and being fabulous and get distracted when it comes to keeping my home. (It's not like I can trade it in, let's be honest here). So, looking around, I realized a couple of things. First, my house is a mess. Second, my parents come to housesit and watch the kids in just a bit over 2 weeks. I have to get my butt in gear. I really lag in the organizational department. It is easy for me to get addled and… look! Squirrel! The following is a list of some things I need to deal with in the coming months, I guess. If I feel like it.

I promise to pay more attention to my children this year. It's the little things. My youngest went to Christmas dinner with family with feet that were dirtier than a hobbit. Nobody saw them, they were in socks and shoes. But they were very disgusting. I have no idea how her feet got that dirty. I guess I need to make sure she bathes more often. It isn't that I am lazy. I swear. And my kids aren't being ignored. I am so busy keeping psychological order in my house that some things fall apart. My only excuse is that Christmas preparations made me overlook a small thing like a bath. What? They eat. What more do you want from me?

Ok, another thing: I guess we need to eat at home more. These last couple of months, I really took the easy way out. Besides being expensive, going out to dinner isn't that healthy. Fast food is crap. Yes, I am fundamentally lazy, and don't really like to cook, but I am not Oprah. I cannot afford a personal chef. This cooking gig falls to me. So time to get off my butt and make sure my family eats well. I am so busy writing and doing things that are Important (What? those Rabbids NEED to be pimped!) I forget people need to eat, I guess. Doesn't help when no matter what I fix I get, "Hmmph. I'm not EATING!" from the littlest one. Kind of kills any desire to experiment in the kitchen.

And yeah, I imagine my house needs a bit of a cleaning. Or something. It is just frustrating, every time I clean it gets dirty again. I think that the Messy House Fairies live here and come out when we are sleeping. You've seen Pigpen, from the Peanuts comic strip? He takes a bath, and gets dirty just walking? I go to bed with the house clean and wake up to find things everywhere. The principle of entropy states that all things are hurdling headlong towards chaos, naturally. My house is a great example of that.

I feel like Genghis Khan trying to force people into indentured servitude if I ask my children to lend a hand. So rather than fight the complaining, I do it myself. And there is only so much of me going around. So walk around that toy, I don't care. Mama needs a drink. If you trip over it, pick it up. Someone wise once said cleaning house while the kids are awake is like stringing beads with no knot on the end. I am certain she was a mother. And she probably drank.

And while we are on the subject of messy, there's the car. We don't live in our car, but it sure looks like it. I have a rule, if you bring something to the car, you must take it out. It doesn't fly. Most of the time, it cannot walk its way out of the car, it needs help to get back to its rightful place. I get distracted, they ignore it and we are back to "the car should be parked at a rest stop cause we are camping in it" look. It takes more energy than I have trying to stay on top of it.

I will throw out all of those socks. (oh shut up, you have them, too!) I have a box of socks in the closet with no mates. I think there might even be some infant socks in there. I am loathe to throw them out, because I know as soon as I do I will find the mates. What do you do with mismatched socks? When the kids were younger, we make sock puppets and called it "crafting." (I am still trying to figure out what to do with the dryer lint). Oh, yeah. I will also keep up with the laundry. Also known as: that stuff I fold and then it gets thrown back in the hamper by the teenager without even the courtesy of unfolding it.

I will get on top of the paper this year. I am drowning in bills, junk mail, solicitations, coupons… they just keep coming. No sooner do I get rid of one crop, another pile springs up. It's like an evil hydra of information. I get over 4 bundles of direct mail ads a week, not counting catalogs, bills, and the various normal mailings. I would burn the damn house down to get out from under them. But we had a house fire three years ago. I know I don't want to go through that again! I pay all of the bills online, but cannot allow myself to stop the paper bills. What if I forget to pay something? And the Bill Police show up at my door? And take out an ad in the newspaper and then no one will sell us anything like food and stuff? And then we wind up homeless? (Yes, this keeps me up at night..I think a lot).

So I have a couple of bags of miscellaneous papers in my closet. I figure if they sit there for a while, once they are all outdated, I can just go throw it all in the recycling bin. (after shredding it, of course). While I am on the subject, who asked for all this suck-ass circular junk mail crap? Direct mail campaigns are so wrong. I didn't order it, I don't want it. Save the cost and save the trees. Save me the aggravation. Don't send it. I get that everyone needs a job, but does it have to be rubber-banding paper for the local Chinese restaurant and tree surgeon on my door when I am not home? This stuff makes me want to kill someone.

I will go to bed at a decent hour. I am nocturnal, and always think if I go to bed, I am missing out on the 24 hour party that is going on without me. It isn't necessarily about the Internet. It can be TV, a good book, even loading the dishwasher. My favorite time is when I am the only one awake. The house is quiet, the cats are relaxed. And I am wide awake. It makes it really hard to go to bed. But then I am tired the next day, and all of the above things seem like a mountain I don't want to climb. Unless there is chocolate at the summit.

Looking at this list, you might ask what I have to offer, if it isn't my immaculate house and chef-like cooking skills. Why, life is a party around here! My stellar wit and winning personality are all my family will ever need. That, and when the mood strikes, I give killer hugs.

Do you think Tina will keep her commitments? Come find out on Send Chocolate.

Don't make it easy to hack your password

Tue, 12 Jan 2010 02:15:00 GMT

Do you use your kids' names as a password? Your pet's name, that you talk about on your blog? You might want to rethink that strategy. Seriously. I have a friend right now in shock because she had an easy-to guess password. Someone hacked her gmail account. She lost everything. This includes her email, her blogs (which were on Blogger, owned by, who else? Google). What's more, her passwords were in a folder, in her gmail account. So, the person who hacked her has it all. She is left with nothing and is scrambling to undo the damage that can be done all over the Internet. Meanwhile, she is locked out of everything Google. Can you imagine? Another reason computing in the Cloud has me a bit a-skeered...Google owns my life.

It is easy to get lax, but here's the deal, from me to you. If you have a word from the dictionary as a password, change it, RIGHT NOW. I'll wait. ...

...are you back? This is why: there are programs that just run dictionary words and common numbers trying to hack your password. Make no mistake, there are people out there, right now, as I write this, trying to hack you.

A combination of letters, numbers and upper and lower case characters are the best chance you have to keep those out who want in to your accounts. Go ahead, make use of that shift bar. Also, while I am on the subject, make a new password for every single service you use online. I know it's a pain, but this way, if someone gets into one, they don't necessarily get into everything.

I know, I know..it's hard to keep track of that many passwords, but you have some options. If you are on a Mac, you have Keychain to help you. You can store passwords, but also generate them as well. On a PC, you can use Password Safe, an application that you download and use locally. It creates files for your passwords, and a master password to protect them all. What's more, it is open source, so you don't pay anything for it. As for what you find on the Internet, I would be very, very wary of any online password meters. How do you know that your password is not being snarfed? Keep it local! It's also smart to write those puppies down in case you have a hard drive crash. This actually happened to me in July, and I lost half of my passwords. Luckily, I did have most of them written down, and backed up.

I don't want to hear that you have been hacked, so change that password. Change it often. And store your passwords locally, not ONLINE where they can be hacked. Your online identity, treat it the way you would your bank information. Treat it the way you would your first born child. Guard it.

Consider this my public service announcement to all of you. Much love. Peace out.

Tina isn't as computer illiterate as you might think. Come see what other surprises are in store for you at her blog, Send Chocolate.

My daughter, the fashion plate

Fri, 08 Jan 2010 00:35:00 GMT

I have a confession. I am raising a fashion plate. I am not sure how it happened, I am a feminist. I mean, sure I shave my armpits, and tend the garden, and I looove sexy heels, there's that. But there is more to life than clothes. I fought this, tried to get her interested in other things. But, alas.

JBean is eight now. In spite of her autism, she has finally mastered the task of getting dressed on her own, and she has very obvious preferences about her clothes. It is a given she will grouse (read: throw a fit or just whine a lot) even if she chose it herself the night before. I have learned to pad the schedule and take valium, drink be patient with her foibles. It is a given she will protest whatever she is first wearing the way that Christian from Project Runway will use "fierce" in at least one sentence of an interview.

She doesn't dress like girls her age (thank God for that…have you seen some of the clothes in the stores?) Many of them look styled for harlots-in-training. I cannot believe the way they want the tots to tart it up. Once my oldest daughter asked who buys the clothes they sell in stores and I told her, "Blind people who hate you and Christian, from Project Runway." (and I win, that's two references to Christian in one post. Wonder what the prize for that is? And no, he is not a blog sponsor at all). ::send shoes, Chris!:::

JBean's favorite outfits these days are little plaid skirts and matching tops in various colors, and she still loves her beloved Hannas, though it is time to replenish. She is very particular about what she will wear. It all has to match, along with accessories: a jeweled headband, pink and purple shell bracelet, rock star sunglasses. She cracks me up. Maybe she is an aspiring model. (did I mention her favorite food is salad? And cucumbers? Sincerely hoping that is where the modeling comparison stops. And that the cigarettes and booze don't show up. Would you believe she was thinking she was fat? I don't buy fashion magazines, I don't make comments about my body image in front of her. It's ridiculous, if anything she is too skinny. Where would she even get the idea that at EIGHT she might be fat?? Hmm, I wonder...

I hate the pressures on little girls these days. They are bombarded with crap marketing constantly, telling them who they are. Teaching them values that just might stay with them forever. It is important to be comfortable with who you are, and as a young grade schooler, you are just learning who that is. She has a lot of growing to do, and who knows who she will be. In the meantime, I am making sure she learns to eat, feels good about herself and knows she is loved for who she is, not what she does or how she looks.

I asked her recently why she is so certain in how she dresses. Do other little girls dress like she does? She said, "No, it's just cute." Well, I wanted to know, did you learn it from the Disney Channel? She laughed at me, "No, mama. It's just cute." Well, what makes it cute? "I do, mama. I make it cute. I dress the way I want to, for me."

I think I may be doing something right.

Tina really does like shoes, but doesn't aspire to be a supermodel. She hopes her girls get that same kind of confidence. Send more chocolate and come laugh with her on Send Chocolate.

World of Fantasy is a world my daughter liked

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 15:31:00 GMT

The kids and I attended the opening night of Disney on Ice: World of Fantasy. Littles was really looking forward to it, asking a few times this week when we would be going every day for a week. I think she was antsy! We were there for media night, along with other bloggers and press staff. It was a new experience for me, and one that I hope to repeat soon!

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

It was a rather cold night, so we stood outside, huddled together for warmth. JBean was so excited though, she barely felt the frigid wind. And I had a new camera to keep me occupied. JBear did karate katas to stay warm.

Once inside, we headed to the pre-show, where we saw Cinderella and the newest Disney princess, Tiana. JBean had just seen Princess and the Frog, so she was very happy to see "Tiana" up close. Along the way, there were stations with princess gowns to be gawked at as well.

Once the preshow was over, we snagged a couple of hot dogs and headed in to our seats. Everywhere, were vendors trying to sell us overpriced concessions, marketed to the little ones in an effort to shame Mama into purchasing plastic cups filled with rainbow snowcones, light-up fairy wings and tulip hats wrapped around cotton candy. As you can see, I was not able to resist the siren call of the hat.

The show itself was typical kid fare, vignettes of Little Mermaid, Lion King and Cars, along with the newer Tinkerbell/Pixie Hollow franchise. The first half of the show was the former; the second half was the latter. My children really enjoyed the first half of the show, as did I. The costumes and staging were interesting, and played well in the arena. The skating was good, though not expert Olympic level. Still, it worked.

After Intermission, the Tinkerbell portion of the show was next. My little one liked this...she loves fairies. My 11 year old son was a bit more reserved, though. He thought it was not as good as the first half. Honestly, I agreed with him: maybe it was the familiarity of the songs in the first half, but the second half just didn't grab me. I also think since I haven't really seen the Tinkerbell animated movies that the show was based upon, I didn't have a lot to compare it with. As I said, my little one, the target audience member, of course, thoroughly enjoyed it.

Would I go again? Yes, I would. When we arrived home, my little one kept saying over and over again, "Thank you Mama for taking me to the show! I had So Much Fun!"

It doesn't get any better than that.

Tina skates on thin ice a lot. It's pretty funny. Come read about it on Send Chocolate.

Christmas, OCD and me

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 01:09:00 GMT

It's in the air. If you are quiet, you can hear it.

The ringing of bells by bored Salvation Army volunteers. The muttered cussing of a mother as she tries to find a parking space at the mall. The movement of boxes as Daddy tries to find the lights so he can string them on to the Christmas tree. The hollow "Oof!" as I am elbowed in the ribs to get the last copy of the only game my son wants for Christmas this year, bar none. The screams of yet another child placed on Santa's lap against his will by a well-meaning mother, trying to simply make memories for her family.

Poor woman.

I learned the hard way with that one: just not worth it. I admit it, this time of year fills me with dread.

I used to have a brain, but somewhere around November, specifically the third week or so, my brain goes missing. Some call it anxiety over perfectionism. I call it par-for-the-course. But it makes the holidays stressful, not fun, and a lot more work than they need to be.

I can't figure out how to change this, try as I might. It is a mountain I am tired of climbing. ( a chimney I am tired of going down?) One of these days, I am going to say "Screw it," and we will head somewhere warm, sunny and sandy for the holidays. But not this year. This year, I just have to get through it. Come January 4th, all will be okay again.

There just seems to be so much to do, and every year, I tell myself I will simplify. But how? When you create traditions (which, in this house, means you did it twice) you have to keep with them, or the kids see the sky falling and run to tell the king.

So, I prepare. I buy Christmas Eve Pajamas. I make the Christmas Morning breakfast ahead of time. I take pictures of artfully arranged presents under the tree for the umpteenth time. I call my doctor for a prescription of Xanax. (that last part is just on the wish list inside my head…I don't actually do drugs).

Parents always want to do better for their kids than was done for them, but in my case, my mother set the bar quite high when it comes to Christmas. She has a knack for giving the Perfect Gift, Just What I Always Wanted, and unfortunately, that talent skipped a generation. Don't get me wrong, I know how to give good gifts. But I don't have a sixth sense about it. I suppose that I will have to content myself with my writing prowess and my wit. Oh, and my humility.

Even with preparation, I am terrified I will forget something and it will be too late. I guarantee that on Dec. 24th at about 9 p.m. I will, in a panic, realize that the gifts aren't quite even, and send my husband out into the cold, foraging for toys at the local drug store that is open until midnight. This happens every year. When making cookies? I will get halfway through the recipe and remember that I needed butter. Or shortening, that I swear I purchased last week, but cannot find. Again with the venturing out into the cold in search of baking supplies. He is so good to me.

I am worried I am doing it wrong, I have a master list of gifts for Christmas morning. Santa isn't the only one who makes a list and checks it twice! Mine is a symbol chart with the gifts in numerical order. I color code the wrapping paper to reduce the chance of JBug getting a Star Wars Lego set or JBean, the bug phobic getting an ant farm. Drop the ball once, and they never let you live it down. Now I remember who belongs to what gift. But it means having six different kinds of wrapping paper, and I like lots of different colors, so the wrap has to be in complementary colors. We don't discuss the Bowing of the Presents…of course there must be bows and curling ribbon. It's a sickness. After comes the arranging of the presents… they all must be seen correctly, with the small ones in front of the larger ones, and mixed up according to who they belong to. No wonder I am tired.

Still, as much as I obsess, as much as I worry, it all seems to come together, every year. And the results are worth it. When I hear the excited whispers on Christmas morning, feign sleep and wait for my little one to wake me with giggles and "Santa was here!" I remember why I do it. Come to think of it, it's why I do most everything: the joy on the faces of my children.

Seen through their eyes, I can finally find the magic that this old jaded heart was missing. And remember what Christmas is all about.

Tina really isn't as big a Scrooge as it appears. She actually enjoys life! You can read about it more on her blog, Send Chocolate. Or, check out her community blog devoted to parents dealing with autism, Autism Sucks.

Sometimes all you need is a dance party

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 02:15:00 GMT

It was 8 a.m. Something you need to know up front: I am a nightowl. I stay up late, and go to bed even later. So I covet my bed. There are few things I like to do more than sleep. Once I am asleep, I tend to stay that way, unless, under duress, I have to get up. Morning qualifies under these terms. There I am, blessedly snuggled under the warmth of the covers when I feel a small, insistent head burrowing against my collarbone. And if that's not enough, it is making little mewling sounds. No, it was not the cat, begging to be fed his breakfast. The cat is at my feet, keeping my toes warm. This morning visitor is my littlest daughter who is in need of cuddles. I could do without the kitten sound effects, but I take my cuddles where I can get them. With a sigh, signaling the end of my slumber and the beginning of my day, I rolled over and snuggled.

Once up, I entered my teenager's room (upon pain of death) to wake her for the day. "Nooooo!" she moaned, and rolled back over in her bed. Well, as a mother, I had no choice. I had to bring out the big guns. Did I pour water on her head? No. Did I yank the blankets from her lifeless body? No. I leaned over and hit "Play" on the CD player. TobyMac, a high-energy rock band that my daughter enjoys filed the room. She still didn't stir. Alright then, time to up the stakes. As a teenager, she is very good at ignoring me. "You know you brought this on yourself, "I told her. "And now comes the time to bust a move." You haven't lived until your mother has danced in your room, on your bed, even on your head. (well, not actually on it, just close to it). Apparently, she wanted to die of embarrassment. And she still ignored. I called in the reinforcements.

My geeky husband, JNerd, answered the call, disco dancing down the hall and into her room. Clad in his Darth Vader pajama bottoms, he cut a proverbial rug all around her bed. She stuck the pillow over her head.
"Hey, this looks like fun," said the middle kid, the extrovert in our family. Always ready for the party, he sashayed in doing an impromptu line dance. Bringing up the rear was the littlest one, still mewing like a kitten and twirling all over the room. She is a ballerina, you know.
My oldest knew when she'd been beaten. "All right, all right! I am getting up!" She didn't jump up and join the dance, that was too much to hope for. But she was awake, and moving. Our work there was done.

Just another morning in the House of Awetism.

Tina has 3 children and a husband who make her look sane by comparison. You can read more about their (mis)adventures on her personal blog, Send Chocolate.

A Christmas Confession

Sun, 06 Dec 2009 01:42:00 GMT

Christmas is coming up, and I have a confession. I am addicted to crayons. Yes, seriously. Yes, I know I am a grown woman. Some people buy shoes or mochas (oh wait, that's me, as well).. but I also buy crayons. And not just any crayons, they must be Crayola crayons. I don't know what it is, but I just love to inhale the scent of those bright, waxy sticks. I love caressing a new box and seeing them lined up with sharp points. As though they were just waiting for me. I adore the names of the crayons, and even their position in the box. I know where to find every color when I color- Oh, I didn't mention that? I have my own coloring books.. Currently, I have about four boxes of crayons, three that I haven't even opened yet. And I am sure there will be more under the tree on Christmas Day. I will probably have to slink into Target, under the guise of purchasing those clandestine boxes for my children. But really? We know who they are for, don't we? I am shameless. It's a love affair I cannot control and has been hot and heavy for years.

My favorite box was the special edition that came out after the contest winners named the colors. Contest winners came up with names like Mac n' Cheese, Timber Wolf, and Granny Smith Apple. I think that was in 2005. I don't have that box anymore, though. It, along with my special edition state crayons perished in a heap of melted wax after a house fire in 2006. I was almost as upset over their demise as I was over my iPuddle. Er, I mean iPOD. I suppose it's a question of priorities.

Maybe it's a childhood memory association and I do have fond memories of my mother coloring in my Alice in Wonderland color book when I was a Kindergartner. Her coloring was so precise, and I was very impressed by it as a child. Smooth, round circles covering the page, so tightly drawn that there was not a stroke showing. Yes, I learned it early.

I suppose I am passing on the legacy. One of my favorite activities is to sit with my children and color. It calms me down. I also have some amazing coloring books by Dover, which I highly recommend. They are harder to color than the standard large lined fare designed for children. Still, aren't we all just kids at heart? We find something we love and that gives us joy...I think that might be the secret to life.

Don't neglect the things you love, no matter how trivial they might seem. Don't worry if others think what you are doing is juvenile. Or if they stage an intervention. (I can stop anytime I want!)

I have always been fascinated by crayons, and wanted to share some interesting links from my collection. Yes, I have a folder in my browser entitled, "Crayons." I am a sick, sick woman. Let's just pretend what I am about to tell you will help you later in life, ok?

I absolutely love the Color+Design Blog, it is beautiful. The added bonus is the site lists ALL 120 Crayola colors with their corresponding hex colors! If you are a geek like me, sometimes you just need that perfect color when you are working on a web page. I also found The History of Crayola Crayons, with a lot of little-known facts, and when colors were introduced. I learned facts I didn't know, and bonus, I could call it school for the little one.

I wouldn't say that I am obsessed with crayons, but at one point, I thought my son, JBear was color blind. I would ask him what color something was and he would say some random name, "Brown", or "green" and the item would be neither. I was a bit concerned. Fast forward to Kindergarten and he said to his teacher one day, "Oh the sky is the most beautiful shade of cerulean blue today!" Come to find out, not only did he know his colors, he knew every one of the colors in the box of 96! I wonder where he learned that? I do have one more confession, though. I don't share my crayons. My kids have their own. And when mine lose that razor sharp point, I pass them on to the kids, and buy new ones. So this year, Santa, could you just bring me a big old box of crayons? Before you read about me shopping in the 24 hour Walgreens in stained sweats just to get one more crayon fix? Let's not see me on the news, huh?

When Tina isn't coloring, she is playing with colors on her blog. Come tell her how they look, and stick around to read about her silly life.

Our field trip to Riley's Farm

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 01:14:00 GMT

Recently, I braved the freeways, with my G1 GPS (which, if you don't know, is trying to kill me) and my kids and I went with our homeschool group to Riley's Farm, for an amazing field trip. For those who don't know, Riley's Farm is located in Oak Glen, out by Yucaipa. It takes a little over an hour to get there from North Orange County. The roads are a bit wind-y, so make sure that you are nice and awake and your windshield is clean!

Once there, it is like stepping back in time. My son, JBear, was able to help press the apples and make apple cider. Apparently, the colonists also made hard cider, but of course, we didn't get any of that! The apples they used were a bit too soft, so they didn't let us drink it, since it wasn't pasteurized. As if I would, anyway. That little bit of history is a just a bit too authentic…no dysentery for us!

The kids made candles, dipping the candle in the wax. In colonial times, each candle had to be dipped by hand, over and over, a very time-consuming process. The colonists boiled bayberries to get their wax. Bayberries had a low-smoke level, so they were ideal for candles. We, of course, just buy Yankee candles, and call it a day.

The kids played colonial games, hoop and stick, graces, played with a small hoop and two sticks (see a pattern here?) , and horseshoes. JBear was probably pining for his Nintendo DS, but he never said a thing.

There was colonial music, as our guide treated us to some beautiful pennywhistle (also known as a "flipple flute"..no I didn't make that up!) renditions of "Star of the County Down."
Since I love The Chieftains, and James Galway, I was only too happy to listen. Yeah, so I am old. Sue me. The kids got caramel apples, and we settled down under the shade of a large tree. The family dog was roaming around, and it was just a really nice place to be.

After our rest, the kids were able to practice writing with a quill. They agreed it would have been nice to be schooled in colonial times. Spelling didn't matter at all, what matter was how beautiful your penmanship was. Of course, that's where we part ways…writing with a quill is ridiculously hard! Once you get it down and your ink is somewhat even, you have to dip again. and, it blotches. Creating quills was a profession taking a skilled artisan. Quills usually came from geese or turkeys. Swan quills were used by the well-to-do. RSVP pens come from Office Depot. Right down the street. $3 for 2. I win.

Weaving was our next stop. Believe it or not, it was a man's job. The women carded the wool, and spun the thread, but the men wove it into cloth. Interesting fact: there weren't many spinning wheels, taxes were too high from Britain. Instead, they used a drop spindle. A simple loom isn't that hard to make. Have you ever heard the term "warp and weft?" It acutally comes from weaving. Warp is the yarn drawn side-to-side. Weft is the yarn drawn up and down. Weaving isn't that hard, and once you get to the end of the row, you go back and do the opposite of what you just did. Perfect for teenagers! And, if she made her own clothes, she would think twice before she just had to have that newest in-fashion shirt. I am so evil.

And of course we left just in time to hit traffic. I drove home, and we were starving. So I stopped to get us some lunch and afterwards, got lost trying to get back to the freeway. One thing about me, I am a smart cookie. But I am crummy with directions. Give me a choice, I will probably go the wrong way, which is a recipe for stress. My Google G1 GPS (which relies on Google Maps) was not helpful, and that made me anxious. I had missed one freeway, and was on another, because in Southern California, you can't get very far without using the freeway. But Google Maps? It didn't even recognize where I was to get me home. I had to call my JPS (JNerd Positioning System) so he could tell me how to find my way back to the place I belong. After sitting in traffic, I finally did pull into the driveway, and we were all pretty tired. We had a lot of fun. But I think we will stick close to home for a while!

If laughter is the best medicine, Tina is just what the doctor ordered! Come get your daily humor prescription filled at Send Chocolate.

Wanted: 10 minutes peace, but I'll settle for 5, ok 3

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 01:40:00 GMT

"Parents are not particularly interested in justice, they are interested in quiet."
-Bill Cosby

I am a pretty easy going person, for the most part. No, really, I am. Unless I am tired, and then all bets are off. I can be irritable, easily frustrated, noise sets my teeth on edge. This week, I haven't been sleeping very well. I just got new braces (the clear kind...my ego is intact) and they are making it hard to rest. Also, there is a lot going on, and sleep is what suffers. I don't want to make my friends' problems about me… but one of my best Internet friends just found out her husband's cancer has reoccurred, and I am hurting badly for them. Also, another Internet friend is in a hospital ICU fighting for her life back. A good friend is being absolutely screwed over by her ex husband. My daughters have been fighting illness. And me? I am just trying to find some justice, some equilibrium and some peace.

Unfortunately, my youngest, JBean, doesn't understand what "lower your voice," "be quiet, please," "silence" or "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NO MORE NOISE!" means. She has no idea how to do anything quietly. It just isn't in her makeup. Ok, maybe it's the autism, or maybe it's just her, but enough. Her stim is making noise. She sings, constantly. She sings while playing. She sings in the bathroom. She tries to sing while she eats. She sings herself to sleep. And my ears are tired.

I cannot tell you what I would give for silence. And not the silence where someone else jumps in with a request once they hear dead air for more than 5 seconds, either. Gee, do you think that happens a lot around here? Part of autism is not always getting the nuances of the meter of conversation and where it is ok to break in. So there is a lot of stepping on others' words here. The kids talk over one another, and don't always hear each other. And I am just ready for no more chatter.

I am thinking, an hour, maybe two, of just blessed quiet. If you ask Jbean to be quiet, she talks at the level she thinks is quiet, which is just below the decibels of a jackhammer. And she is just about as repetitive. Driving her noise into my brain, until I want to run screaming, into traffic. Now, this doesn't seem like such a bad plan, really. I figure one of two things will happen:
1) a car will run me over and save me from the noise
2) they will commit me for being unstable.

And really, the hospital is quiet, for the most part. And I would get to lie in bed all day. And the hat factory wouldn't be such a bad place, when you think about it. Maybe I would finally learn to knit. Hats? Either way, the hospital or the funny farm, at least it will be quiet with no more demands. Three square meals a day, that I don't have to cook. Someone taking care of my every need. Time to nap.. Oh don't tell me you haven't thought about it! Hell, that would just about be a vacation. Where do I sign up?

Tina is a lot saner than she lets on. And actually likes her kids and her life, most of the time. She brings the crazy at her personal blog , too.

Marriage with autism, and a side of snark

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 01:34:00 GMT

Love and Marriage, Love and Marriage, go together like a horse and carriage.. though in our house, we are singing a different song.

"So what is the rate?" She inclined her head towards me. I swallowed, stalling because I didn't know. I knew it was high. I looked at her and said, "Not sure, but I know it is higher than the national average. That's just over 50% now." So I decided to come home and google-search some actual figures. There is no question that raising a child with autism, even high-functioning autism, is a challenge. It is a challenge financially, emotionally, spiritually and attitudinally. It is an entire paradigm shift. Like living with a duck who wants grapes...all the time. It isn't hard to feel at your wits' end ..often. Many times my husband, JNerd comes home and I just have nothing else to give. I am spent. Absolutely worn out, and not able to give to one more person. And who gets the short end of the stick? You guessed it: JNerd does. And yet he rarely complains.

As I write this, he has sallied-forth on a mission of mercy. Yes, the kids are tucked into their beds, and he has gone to procure Starbucks mocha, the nectar of the gods. He knows foreplay. Or maybe he just knows how to keep me sane. Since life can often be a war zone, and I spend a lot of time crawling over enemy lines without hesitation (okay, maybe there is a little hesitation) a medic on duty is necessary. That's where JNerd comes in. I guess it works because we take care of each other. We get along well, and we don't really have to work at it. Which is good, because there isn't much time to work on much of anything in this house that doesn't beg to be fed. We can't take on anymore.

There is a reason we have cats. They give me space. Cats are independent, don't mind if they aren't the center of attention and often prefer not to be. We don't have a dog, though I would love one, and maybe someday soon, we may take the plunge. But I don't have the time to devote to puppy training and walking and just being generally slobbered over and followed around. I get that enough. Honestly? Some days I would like to lock myself in my room for just two minutes. Two minutes. Peace.

So, there is little time left to work on things like marriages, or dinner reservations or breathing. So it is a very good thing that my marriage is usually so easy. We figure we survived a fire, when the house was completely smoked out, everything was destroyed and we had nothing but each other. We survived the insurance settlement and the rebuilding process and the redecorating and even the relocating. We survived another autism diagnosis. After that? Cake. Wedding cake?

In any case, I came home and found the figures. According to a few online sources, it is over 80%. Dr. Phil even pegged the rate at 86% if you can believe it. 86% of marriages amongst couples who have a child with autism end in divorce. So, since we have three children, does that make our rate higher? In fact, statistically, we aren't married at all! Yay, we are living in sin, and have been for 20 years! How do I tell my parents?? And why aren't we having more fun?!

Like Mark Twain said, "There are lies, damn lies, and statistics."

Tina is often surprised at how long she has been married. She is often surprised she gets through the day. Come see how. Now with added snark for your protection. Send Chocolate Now!

Wanna have a fling?

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 18:20:00 GMT

I am sitting here, minding my own business, writing like a, like a...fiend. I have a lot of writing to catch up on, and am mostly done. I reward myself with a fling, a candy bar that m&m Mars makes, that is like..well, not quite, but almost as good as sex. If sex was a finger of chocolate layered around a cookie and some truffle cream.

My daughter, Miss I am 15 going on 30, walks in. She is just visiting and I am half-listening when she grabs the wrapper, and notices who makes the candy bar. Now, I am in trouble. My daughter is, if not an animal rights' activist, certainly someone who thinks carefully about her choices. She is so smart, it's scary. Last year, she took Biology, but didn't dissect anything. She did her entire lab assignments via virtual dissection. And ended up with an A. She is currently boycotting this candy company due to animal testing.

JBug: Ugh. You're eating that?
Me: Yup. Yummmy.
JBug: Some little mouse died so that you could have chocolate!
Me: That was nice of him.
JBug: ::eyeroll::: I meant, you are killing mice with that chocolate.
Me: Now chocolate is a weapon?? Must not hurt much. I mean, it gets so soft and squishy so quickly...

I win. She shakes her head, makes an exasperated noise, because honestly, how can mothers be so dense? and stalks out of my room.
Leaving me, to my chocolate. In peace. Now, who's the smart one?

Tina is serious about her writing and her chocolate. If you wish to admire either, visit her at Send Chocolate, Now!

My top 20 reasons for homeschooling

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 00:05:00 GMT

People are always asking me why I choose to homeschool, so I thought it would be fun to list some reasons why I do this weird thing. Contrary to popular thought, it wasn't just because I could stay home all day and drink martinis while not waiting in the public school carpool line. Necessity lead me to homeschooling, it's true. When you have a child with high-functioning autism, he can fall through the cracks. My son was not a good fit for the existing special education classes but couldn't function in a mainstream classroom, even with a full-time aide. So I decided to bring him home that first year.

He was already behind in Math and Reading and was in the first grade. I figured I could do as well as the school did, and better if we were lucky. It worked so well the next year I brought my oldest daughter home to study. And at that point, I knew I would homeschool my littlest one as well.
So necessity began my homeschool career, but that's not what kept me going. "Why do you homeschool" I am asked. Here are some of my reasons.

1. You can sleep in if you stay up too late the night before. (just don't do it too often!)

2. Creative Teaching! If at first you don't get it, there's always another way.

3. Kids can run around when they need to

4. Don't have to ask permission to go to the bathroom

5. Nature Walks!

6. Long, meandering side trips into History

7. P.E. is playing outside (no calisthenics, which my daughter hates)

8. No Detention

9. Your teacher loves you, always

10.Field Trips pretty much whenever we want

11.Don't like the book? Find another one!

12. School in the middle of Mommy's bed (or under a tree outside, or on the couch)

13. Pajama Days!

14. Lunch is edible.

15. Chewing gum helps with concentration, and it's not against the rules!

16. Intelligent discussions!

17. Kids who WANT to study what they are studying.

18. No bullying

19. Little to no peer pressure

20. More time for the things that really count like art and music.

Tina says why let schooling interfere with education? If you agree, and think you can school her, check out her blog at Send Chocolate.

Witty Title Not Forthcoming Since I Was Stuck In Traffic

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 23:49:00 GMT

Asperger's, HFA, quirkiness, crazy-making behavior..whatever you want to call it...My son, the fruit of my loins, and paper in my birdcage, is not known for his patience. JBear wants everything now, now, now!

This could be part of his Asperger's, or it could be that I am a crappy mom and have never taught him to delay gratification. I am going with the first one. I mean, I can delay my gratification all of.. let's see... I have not did just eat a molten chocolate lava cake while writing without sharing.. yeah, ok, I am a crappy mom. What' ya gonna do? Sue me?

Today I had to take my daughters to their aunt's house, about 25 minutes away. In rush hour traffic. Which, as anyone who lives in Orange County and drives camps cusses in traffic knows, is really get stuck at every freakin' red light, then crawl for 15 feet at a time traffic. The only rush is to stand still. My son does not endure inactivity well. He gets bored. And, when he is bored, he has to let everyone around him know it. So, let me set the scene:

I am driving, JBug is riding up front, JBean is behind me and JBear is behind her.

Complaining. A lot. About the stupid traffic. Ad nauseum. And I stop for another red light, probably the 457,823rd red light on the route. And from behind me comes:

"Red light, you'd better move it"

::pause::

"I mean it, I have a bazooka."

(and just where did you get that, young man??)

At this point, I am snickering, because, well, I just am. But I am trying not to call attention to it, so he will hopefully continue.

The light stays stubbornly red.

"I have a bazooka and a hand grenade. Those can do much more damage than you'd think."

I am now biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud....

The light still doesn't turn green.

"If you pulled the pin on a hand grenade and covered yourself, you'd still die, it's not like the movies."

At that point, the light got the message and turned green. Lucky for the light, because I would hate to see what would happen when JBear pulled the bazooka out.
(and maybe I would want to borrow it...)

He is the master of the non-sequitur, this kid. He keeps me in stitches. (when I don't want to kill him...)

I am absolutely never bored with my on-board entertainment

*no stoplights were harmed in this story...also? my son absolutely does not, nor has he ever had a bazooka.

awesome Far Side reenactment photo copyright Rocketeer, under cc

Tina figures she should be writing this stuff down. Oh, wait...she does! Think she's funny? Want more? Visit sendchocolate, her personal blog.

What does Trampled By Zebras mean?

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 03:38:00 GMT

So before you ask, or lose any sleep over it, I thought I might explain the name, of my blog Trampled by Zebras. It is a rather colorful title for a blog, and I figured you would want to know why I chose it. (and if not, you can doze through this part, because the funny will be later).

In medical circles, there is a saying: "If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras." The idea is that the simplest answer should be the one you look for. Just because you have a headache does not mean you're dying of brain cancer. If the horse symbolizes the most common solution, then the common solution would be headache= tension, or sinus or something of that nature. The less common, esoteric diagnosis, in this case, brain cancer would be termed the zebra. Got that? In other words, most people deal with horses in their lives, not zebras. Then, there's me.

I have three children. Two of them have been diagnosed with high functioning autism. One of them has very strong Asperger-like characteristics, but has never been formally diagnosed. And my husband also has undiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome. It was unofficially confirmed by the doctor that tested my son, so we know he is part of the tribe. That said, I am the only one in the family without autism/Asperger's Syndrome. I LIVE with zebras. The simple answer wasn't the answer in my family. And yes, much of the time I feel trampled. By autism. And looking at it through medical eyes, the diagnosis trampled my family. Get it?

Most of the time, if you see unruly kids, maybe a child who is shrieking, or frustrated, whining or throwing a fit, you would assume that blame would fall squarely on the parents' shoulders. I don't blame you. Before I had children, (and ok, confession, even after I had children, but before mine were diagnosed, I would have agreed with you). Clearly, something has gone wrong somewhere, and well, this is just a child who needs some discipline. While at any given time, my children probably could use more discipline (couldn't every child?) my childrens' behavior is not based upon a lack of parenting. It's the autism. It causes the kids to have a harder time self-governing and handling their reactions.

There is a tendency to be rigid, and full of anxiety and life sometimes is a lot of work for them. Which, of course, means life is a lot of work for me a lot of the time. I don't really complain, it is what it is. Of course, my challenge is figuring out which is the autism, and which is just, well, being like any other difficult kid. Sometimes the sheer frustration of trying to figure it out leaves me a great ball of confusion. Damn the zebras! They knock me to the ground again.

I am picking myself up off the ground often, many times a day, as those zebras come crashing through the underbrush (Yes, I know zebras live on the Savannah, shut up, it's my story, if I want underbrush, I will use it, haven't you ever heard of artistic license?) In any case, they come crashing through the underbrush, stomping me with their evil hooves. When they stampede is unknown, I just live in wait, all of the time. I know, at some point, evil eyes will peek through the trees and those zebras will come screaming through my life, knocking the breath out of me. I have learned not to panic (or at least, not to panic much). But the sheer unpredictability of their comings and goings can be very anxiety-producing.

Of course, the humor is not lost upon me (or hopefully you). The idea of wanton zebras bombarding me with their presence, flying out of nowhere, well, it's sort of Monty Pythonish, isn't it? And since I am a huge fan of Flying Circus, well, it just fits. Picture the architects in the Cheese Sketch, fending off the Spanish Inquisition with the Dead Parrot and suddenly, a great herd of zebras runs in and mows them all down. And really, who needs to Buy An Argument when you live with a teenager? Yes, my friends, I am pretty sure that is an accurate metaphor. Trampled by Zebras... It's my life, and welcome to it.

photo of zebra copyright SZ
photo of child, copyright Tina Cruz

Tina has a goofy sense of humor and calls it survival. She figures it is better to laugh now than to cry later. If you agree, come laugh with her at sendchocolate.

Fear and Parenting in Orange County

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 03:37:00 GMT

I've been thinking about how our childhood influences our mothering. I grew up as a latchkey kid. From the time I was in the fourth grade I would walk to school, on my own, every morning. The chain that hung around my neck was cold from the early morning air.

All day, I harbored a secret. Hidden and tightly nestled against my chest, warm from the proximity of my heart, was a key. I felt like a big kid. I would arrive home to a list of chores and an empty house. It taught me responsibility...and what it was to be lonely.

While my mother worked full-time, I would sit after school with the television as my only friend, caught up in the world of Suburban Advertising Moms. You know the ones: perfectly coiffed, calling for the Kool-aid Man, (not that she needs rescuing), as her kids emerge from the game, hot and thirsty. She, of the Betty Crocker persuasion, apron-clad, spoon in hand, she bakes up heavenly confections for her family. The smell wafting through the air brings the neighborhood kids forth just in time to get warm brownies. And isn't she a good mother? She didn't believe in the fight for feminism, choosing instead to grace the airwaves with her domestic presence. And I wanted to be her. Or, rather, I wanted her to be home with me. I promised myself I would be home for my kids.

That's exactly what I did. Once I had children I stopped working and never looked back. Yes, I remain involved in the community as a leader. And I am not indolent. I work from home as a freelance writer. I homeschool my children due to the lack of accommodations for special needs kids from our local school district. And I am generally more busy than not.

But I failed. Don't get me wrong, I am good enough. But I never quite measured up to that image in my head of the Good Mother. I expected to be "That House." The one on the block where all of the kids congregate for chocolate chip cookies and video games or Lego, or swingset. And, when my kids were littler that did happen, at least for a bit. But I found that they were loud, and I was annoyed and stressed.

I find, that despite how warm or genuine I am, how much of an extrovert I play for limited periods, I don't really like Other People's Children much. At least on my own turf. I love kids, and I love working with kids and I am a high school youth leader at church (that's right, they actually let me near teenagers), but when I am at home, I protect it.

Some people have the hospitality gift. I have the Raise the Drawbridge gift, I think. I see home as a castle, fortified against intruders, and while I love a lot of people and want to hang with them, I want to do it outside the walls. Inside, I want to sit around in my underwear, swear under my breath and leave dishes in the sink. That's just not conducive to entertaining. Home is a Safe Place, from the world, and my kids need that. Heck, so do I, sometimes!

Not to mention, I have very little domestic anything in me, not even beer. ( I prefer Guinness). I hate to clean house--which stems from being Cinderella to my "ugly-stepsister" family as I was growing up. The thing I would most prefer to make for dinner? Reservations. I tried for years to be what everyone thought a good Christian wife was supposed to be, and I fail miserably. There is a mountain of laundry piled as we speak. I admit it: I suck at the domestic wifely crap. But I have a very happy husband, and if you cannot read between the lines on that one, I refuse to spell it out for you. Let's just say there are some things more important than how springtime-fresh your toilets are.

It's ok to be "good enough"

I have finally, after many years, embraced my lack-of-momness. I am not Supermom, she doesn't exist. She's about as "real" as those Housewives that put Orange County on the map. I am not a bad mother. To the contrary, I am a good-enough mother. I don't do everything I could do for my children's comfort. I am short with them, preferring quiet to chaos more often than not. But I love them, and they know that. Even if I grouse at them, or complain that they don't put their shoes away or lock them outside because they are constantly traipsing in and out of the damn house! I only did that once, I swear, don't call CPS. I love them. And that? IS good-enough.

Tina has come to terms with the idea she isn't perfect. But she is still working on it. To watch her labor further, and find a few laughs at her expense, check out her blog over here

You can't do the Time Warp again

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 17:34:00 GMT

I was twenty-two and sitting in Denny's, hands clasped over a steaming cup of "mug o' coffee." It was 3 a.m. Seated around a table were all of my friends, as we laughed and ate our Moons Over Mihammy and Superbird Sandwiches. The mood was jubilant, It was a Saturday night. We were young, we were invincible and we were in our element.

One of the girls, a doe-eyed, young 18 year old, was eating whipped cream, licking the spoon suggestiively as her black hair cascaded in ringlets down one side of her face. Some of the males sat, transfixed. The women rolled their eyes. I said, "Come on baby, we'll show you how it's done!" And the Whipped Cream Eating Contest was born. The rules were simple: be as sexy as possible while eating it, to the victor went the spoils. In the months following, I was to win the contest numerous times. I also taught the girls a really important skill party trick: how to tie a cherry stem in a knot....with your tongue. Just business as usual for us, the regulars at the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Yes, the crazy midnight movie starring Tim Curry was a staple for me, because face it, in Central California, there wasn't a whole lot to do! We would go to clubs until midnight and then head to the Dream Theatre in Monterey, where we watched the Rocky, including pantomiming the Devo video- the one with the Giant Baby (giant baby, for the win!). Our "cast" was too cheap to actually have costumes, so we stood up in the front and acted out and yelled lines. This was how we spent our weekends. (Did I mention there was copious amounts of alcohol involved beforehand for those who needed it?)

"It's just a jump to the left...."

After the show, we would go to Denny's and then to the beach and finally to one of the castmember's homes to crash around 5 a.m. It was a crazy time in my life, and I was young, and stupid, and thought I was immortal. There is much I would rather forget. But those midnight flicks in a popcorn-scented luxury film palace are ingrained in my psyche like the gum stuck to my shoes from the theatre floor. I still have fond memories when I hear the opening bars...

"And a step to the ri-i-i-i-ight"

Years later, I saw the Rocky on Mtv. And I was left flat. I wondered why I ever spent so much of my life reciting lines from a cult movie when I could have been, I don't know... what the heck do people do on weekends after midnight? Sleep? Pass out from drinking? Neither alternative really seemed like much of a choice. Still, my daughter doesn't get it, to her it is an immoral movie with a bunch of weirdos dressed in lingerie, and who would watch that. It's not her cup of tea (and I need to be grateful for that!)

"put your hands on your hips... and bring your knees in tiiiiiight."

Some of my friends have been tweeting about going to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show in L.A. County. Apparently, the first weekend of the month is lingerie night. And while that gives me an excuse to pull out my black velvet corset, my days of keeping those kinds of hours are long gone. With age, comes responsibility, as I am so wont to tell my daughter, and as such, I must attend to my family, forgoing midnight movies (which means I wouldn't be home until after 3 a.m. and that's too long to leave my daughter in charge, especially since she won't sleep with us gone). So, they will have to play without us.

"But it's the pelvic thrusts...that really drive you insa-a-a-a-ane..."

Do I feel a tinge of regret? A bit, but I recognize that I have a different life now. That dance has been done. It is major reshuffling in order to jet at the drop of a hat and with my kids special needs' , it is just too hard to go out for extended periods, beyond a few hours at night. Recently, I went out for karaoke and stayed overnight in Los Angeles with JNerd. We had a good time, but not sure when or if we will do it again. There were..complications. As for the Rocky, the Sword of Damocles is hangin' over my head.

but, just one more time, for grins...

"Let's do the Time Warp agaiiiiiiiiiiiiin..."

Or, maybe not. It was the end of an era. Pretty sure it is good to keep it that way.

Tina does a pretty mean Time Warp and still has time for sarcasm. If you enjoy her shining wit, you can get more if you want.