Thing 2: What number am I if I am in Pre-K?
Mommy: Not a number yet, it goes Pre-K, K, 1.... then when you are 18 you will leave home and go find a wonderful university to go to for four more years.
Thing 1 and Thing 2: [sobbing uncontrollably]
Mommy: What's wrong?!!!? [pulling the car over]
Things: We don't ever want to leave mommy. We want to be with you!! We want to stay with you!
Mommy: Oh! Okay, honey, I understand. Mommy went to New York to college and I missed my mommy so much that I couldn't even go to school. Then I came home to my mommy, your grandma. I understand how you feel. You can be with me as long as you want.
Thing 1: I want to [holding up three fingers]: Go to school. Drive my own car home to you. Eat dinner. And watch Mr. Rogers.
Thing 2 [sniffling]: I want to stay with you and eat dinner and watch Mr. Rogers for the rest of my life.
Mommy: I promise you, you can always be with me.
Thursday, January 31
Thing 2: What number am I if I am in Pre-K?
Tuesday, January 29
I worked at P&G in their faux MBA program when the Swiffer product launched. At the time, it was clear that Swiffer was going to be a massive hit. Seeing this ad imbedded in my Yahoo! Mail (fuck-wit shithouse target marketing), I nearly fell over.
I have never imagined less for a housewife; sister friend my vow to you: I will *never* enter a Swiffer Sweeper Sweepstakes, not for me, but for all of f-ing Swiffer-kind.
...just found out last week. Still reeling, even though I, of course knew some form of Autism was the likely diagnosis.
We decided in a drunken stupor do redecorate her room as her retail therapy. I'm looking for chaises and hunting down paint colors. It's the only goddamn thing I can do to help.
Update: Askville folks had some great resources for family friends of Asperger's kids. Read the suggestions here.
Friday, January 25
Last year we tried to find a Chick-Fil-A for La Gringa in Salt Lake...an hour went by wandering the streets around the Mormon Temple before we gave up completely and ate some crappy airport food. This year, we were determined to prevail:
2 p.m. -- Begin to track down the Clucker Burger on La Gringa's iPhone.
2:30- p.m. -- Head straight onto a no-turn highway headed for Park City after Google Maps advises us to: "Exit onto I80 West. Veer right onto I80 East."
2:45 p.m. -- La Gringa and I begin a "gentle disagreement" where I want to blow off the Big G and little i and call 411. Begrudgingly, she does. We call the number for Chick-Fil-A and...it's disconnected.
3 p.m. -- Find our way to downtown where a street worker tells us to find the damn chook and looks at us rather weird, pointing us to 50 Main Street. Finding the address, we found the entire building being torn down as.we.drove.by.
3:15 p.m. -- In fits, I mean F-ing fits, we finally break down and ask a driver where the hell this goddamn chicken shop is. She gives us exact directions: they take us dead-stop into the Delta Center, home of the Utah Jazz. Unless Carlos Boozer is a clucker-in-disguise, we were, again, in the wrong place.
3:30 p.m. -- Mouthwatering we find a mall where we hear there's a chick shop inside. We find a planitarium and a nice little lady that tells us that there's no poultry in sight.
3:45 p.m. -- We find a CPK, which thrills Thing 1 when he tells us that CPK and "Triple A" (Chick-Fil-A) rhyme.
Maybe next year...
Tuesday, January 22
We're in Snowbird cuddled up watching AI, dipping in the in-room hot tub, drinking near-beer and spending some kickass time with the kids. They are a fricking crackup.
Last night driving in the snow in the dark, some dork left on his brights when coming around the curb and blinded my driving; I said "Fuck," which promptly was repeated in the backseat: "FUCK! FU-CKKK! WHAT'S FUCK, MOMMY?!"
La Gringa of course, covered up with She said, "Sucks." They bought it.
A second driver zooming by a 60mph on a road I was driving at 20mph and it just slipped, "You Fucker!" in which Thing 2 says "You said 'FUCK. YOU DIDN'T SAY SUCKER, AND YOU DIDN'T SAY SOCCER. YOU SAID FUCKER!"
Falling into fits of laughter, our family trip begins: happy, funny, silly kidlets. La Gringa and I cracking up. I think La Gringa got it right when she said, "This is my favorite group of people, period."
Tuesday, January 8
La Gringa and I have a pact: the Mormon freak-o-matic wins the election and we're moving to Italy. Not even joking...and you know me well enough to know we're on the next plane if another religious freak runs our Country.
Oh, and for that matter, double goes for Mike Huckabee who said gay people are sinners then backtracked and said that everyone is a sinner.
I'm sinning next to a very hot, crazy smart hottie who happens to be my wife.
Monday, January 7
Saturday, January 5
Kickass, man, we had a great run today. There were nine of us, The Grizwald Clan (4+the awesome runner dog) and the four of us took on the storm with bike trailers, jog strollers and a goal to get wet.
Nine miles in the rain, muddy flooded trails and all -- awesome!
Friday, January 4
So, I'm stumped. I am not a very savvy follower of politics, however, this election means so much to me. I look at my kids and start to understand that this election really, truly *means* something to me.
In 2000, I traveled the world, carefree, freaked out about how selfish and shitty I saw America to be. Somewhere between Izmir and Dubai the election nightmare of George Bush and Al Gore happened. My own personal politics aside: I was forced into defending my country. People laughing out loud in languages I didn't need to understand to get the joke; headlines blaring the complete lameness of our election system; standoffs on CNN International that would determine my daily safety. Fuck, it sucked. And I had filed an absentee ballot earlier, my candidate not even in the running.
By the time I got to Singapore, it became clear that the US had no leader. No one was elected. No one was President. Sure, Clinton was still in office, but it was a joke to the International community. People openly mocked America. I vowed to never, ever pay taxes in a country that could elect George Bush with an Attorney General who claims to speak in tongues. I was horrified.
But then it happened. I began to defend my country in a way I didn't know I had in me. I started talking to Muslim women, Australian old men, Singapore-based businessmen, frankly anyone who would listen. And this was my mantra: I LIVE IN A FREE COUNTRY. I LIVE WHERE WE CAN VOTE. AND THIS DEBATE OF OWNERSHIP IS DEMOCRACY AT ITS FINEST. SHOW ME A MORE DEMOCRATIC COUNTRY AND I WILL LIVE THERE.
I won a shitload of battles that way. I was an American abroad. That shizzit really moved me then. By the time GW Bush was re-elected, I'd lost my spunk. Two small children, a war, dwindling savings... it just seemed like the neverending black cloud. I could not have been happier when Bush's ratings began to fall... and never more freaked out. What were those dozens of people in two dozen open-air cafes, convinced of my passionate democratic position doing now?
Last year, just as I began to buy into the IHateBush, BringThemHome philosophy complete with the Bush Countdown to Exist Whitehouse Calendar, I was reminded of my passion for the democratic process when I realized that a Black Man and a Woman were true potential future leaders of the US.
I told La Gringa that if either of them got the nomination, I would quit my job and volunteer, knocking door-to-door, begging for one single, solitary vote.
So here we are. Obama and Clinton, head-to-head... and me, wondering where I stand.
As a woman, I feel a responsibility to put passion and support behind other women. Sound lame? Well, I've watched my own mother transform near whores into classy, thoughtful, loyal executives...all in the spirit of women supporting women.
As a believer, I feel the passion and yearning to vote for, support and believe in Obama. I love his youth, it reminds me of Kennedy. I love the crap shoot of someone inexperienced but smart and full of desire. I want a black president so bad it's not funny. Not to mention, an Obama '08 bumper sticker would be rad. A Clinton one? Eeek.
My problem is this: if I wanted a woman in office, it would be Nancy Pelosi. If I wanted a black man in office it would be Colin Powell. There are no two ways about it.
So, do I want a chick in office, or a black dude in office? Yeah, I do. But I want the *right* chick in office; the right black dude in office.
...and as we begin the real race to save our country, I am completely fucking wigged out about what to do.