So, today I had to appear in traffic court. It was a hearing where I had to either admit or deny the validity of my speeding ticket. Regardless of my firm belief that the officer clocked the car in front of me (strikingly similar to our van) yet pulled ME over, I admitted the offense just so I could get the hell out of the courtroom. The presiding judge clearly explained all options available to myself and the other dozen or so folks sitting in his courtroom. As for opting to go to trial for whatever infraction we were charged with, he offered the information, "[The state] does this all day, every day. They are VERY GOOD at what they do." Read: If you're ballsy enough to take your case to trial, you will most likely be squashed by the prosecution, resulting in additional court fees and possibly the maximum fine... which in most cases was about $500. Not one to try and rock the boat, I arranged to pay the fine assessed to me and left.

But first? There was entertainment.

Let me preface this account with a very clear statement: I, in no way, mean to offer disparaging remarks to any person who has autism, their family, friends or acquaintances. I do not mean to make light of this condition, nor do I intend to offend anyone in any way.

So here's what happened... a woman entered the courtroom (LATE! This was her first mistake) with her 10-yr-old-ish son. Clearly there were issues with the boy. He became increasingly disruptive, until the judge politely asked her to take him out in the hallway and he would call her when he got to her case. She complied. Just by looking at her, I made the (correct) assumption that when she got her chance to talk to the judge, there was going to be a show. I was not mistaken. When she was called before the judge, her son was very agitated, and proceeded to not only fidget and play in the chair in which he sat, but continually leaned over and grabbed another woman's belongings, purse, etc. off the adjacent table. I felt so bad for him -- the courtroom is not a place for children, and I couldn't believe his mother was brazen enough to bring him with her. The whole time, the mom kept barking orders at him, trying to get him to sit quietly and behave. At one point, after the boy took his mom's papers and threw them all over the floor, the judge snapped and told her in no uncertain terms that this was not a place she should bring her son.
"Common sense should tell you that," he sternly told her. Then she started to get shitty with the judge. (Second mistake.) Throughout this whole debacle, she kept saying, "I'm sorry,... he's autism." It was pretty apparent there wasn't a shred of sincerity in her voice, either. Plus... "he's autism"? Seriously? Autistic, yes. But unless he has been chosen as the poster boy for the condition, I don't think she can say that. The whole thing just reeked of her bringing him into court to gain some sort of sympathy from the bench. Needless to say, if that was her plan, it didn't work. The judge finished lighting her up with his verbal reprimand, and dismissed her as quickly as he could. As they left the room, the boy waved and said, "Bye-bye!" At this, his mother yanked him by the arm and hissed, "You shouldn't say that. He didn't really want you here." (Oops. Third mistake.)

What do you want to bet the judge made a few extra notes in her case file, hmmm?

You know what's probably going to happen, right? Sometime down the road, this is going to turn into how she was discriminated against in court and kicked out because of her autistic son.

How very sad that she thinks what she did this morning was OK. Sometimes, I really have no idea what goes through parents' minds when they pull stunts like this.

I believe Keanu Reeves' character, Tod, summed it up best in the movie "Parenthood." "You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog or drive a car. Hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any [a**hole] be a father."

True, it specifically says "father," but "mother" will work, too.

Bah...

I'm not even going to finish the phrase.

Is it not the most pathetic thing when a person is actually too "blah" about the holiday to even utter the complete phrase that basically tells the whole commercialized holiday to suck it? And it isn't that I'm hateful toward the holiday -- just highly unmotivated. Less than enthusiastic. Very "why bother" about the whole kit & caboodle.

Part of it could be due to last week's revelation to the boys about the existence (or lack thereof) of everyone's favorite jolly old elf. Part of it is definitely due to a budget that is giving new meaning to the word "tight."

I find myself wondering why I can't heed the advice I gave Charlie last week, when he was so upset about finding out the truth about Santa.
"Everyone gets so wrapped up in and focuses on shopping and Santa," I said. "But do you remember why we even celebrate Christmas in the first place?"

"It's when Jesus was born," he answered.

"Exactly," I said. "So before you go letting this one thing bring down Christmas for you, just remember why it's celebrated to begin with. Focus on that, and the rest will fall into place for you."

Jeff and I have so many blessings and so many things to be thankful and grateful for... why it's so hard to bring THAT into the spotlight, rather than shopping for gifts I don't know.

But I'm going to try and change it.

The end of an era...

At 8:20 this morning, I had in my possession Sam's letter to Santa. He worked so hard on it--because it wasn't just a letter written on normal notebook paper. He crafted (with a little help) a construction paper Christmas tree, which he decorated with tiny Santa hats (also made with a little help from yours truly). In the body of the tree, he wrote his letter, asking for a particular NFL jersey. As I got the envelope for him, he was adamant that HE address it himself... "So Santa really knows it's from me" he said. It was adorable and it made me want to scoop him up in my arms and wallow in the cuteness of it all. After school today, we stopped at the mailbox. I pulled the van up to drop off the letter, but rather than just stopping at the driver's side window, I pulled forward a bit more and hit the button to open the back door--Sam was going to drop this one in on his own. And he did.

By 9:20 this evening, however, he had lost the wide-eyed innocence he possessed earlier in the day. Apparently, while at their dad's house, Sam, Jack and Charlie began asking questions about Santa. And so the cat was let out of the bag, so to speak; now the three of them are that much wiser where the holiday and Santa's gift-giving are concerned. But, if you ask me, I wish they hadn't found out. Not just yet. I knew this day would come, and to be honest, I really thought it would have already happened for Jack and Charlie. But Sam? He's only seven. Make that seven-and-a-half... and I have to say, as I write this, I could just burst into tears. Is it selfish to have wanted just one more year? Especially since I watched him create such a wonderful, creative letter for Santa just last night? I know with Bobby heading into his first Christmas at just 9 months, we're in for many, many years of Christmas magic featuring Santa and his team of tiny reindeer. But for a long time, up until last March, Sam was my "baby." I sometimes feel like he jumped way ahead of things because he wanted so desperately to keep up with his older brothers--like he went straight from Sesame Street to Star Wars. And I have to say... this makes me monumentally sad. Not just knowing how quickly he grew up (and IS growing up), but that this is a huge reminder that he can't stay a little kid forever. None of them can.

I am almost wishing and hoping the Post Office deems Sam's letter "undeliverable," and returns it to us. (I made sure I had the return address clearly written in the upper left corner.) I think I'd like to keep this one, this last one, for a long, long time.

I think with the boys on the "other side" of the Christmas magic now, things will be extra special for Bobby in the coming years. Jack, Charlie and Sam will be able to help pull off special surprises for their little brother, and experience the joy of seeing him wide-eyed with the wonder of the holidays... just as I have done for them for the past 10 years. But I will still miss seeing the magic of Christmas in their eyes.

Toothpicks are next...

All I've wanted today is to go back to sleep for a little while. Right now, I'm about to dig through the cupboard for the box of toothpicks and prop my eyelids open.

It all began this morning, when I dragged myself out of bed sometime between 6 and 6:30am, I looked back at my nice fluffy pillow and sighed. Got everyone up and in the middle of the get-ready-for-school-shuffle, I noticed a dusting of snow on the driveway. How lovely, I thought. Fast forward 25 minutes when we sailed through the second intersection in our neighborhood and "lovely" was the last possible word on my lips for the snow... or the glass-like sheet of ice that was hidden underneath. Driving to school takes 25 minutes at the very most on any given day. Today? It took nearly an entire hour. Wrecks were everywhere and just before reaching school, I heard that a portion of a road in town had actually been closed because it was too hazardous for travel.

And WTH am I doing driving my kids across town to school in such insane conditions? I'd tell you, but the story is long and unbelievable. We'll save that for another time.

Anyway, after making sure the kiddos were on their way to class (a full 30 minutes late, but the secretary said they weren't counting tardies today because of the weather) and I loaded up the baby and myself to venture home. Another hour later, we arrived home where I basically dropped off the baby to Jeff and headed out again to run a few mandatory errands. Finally home again around noon, and all I could think of was perhaps grabbing a nice nap before heading back over to pick up the boys from school. No. Such. Luck. Before I knew it, it was 2pm, and back into the car again I went. Of course, afternoons at our house are generally not conducive to napping (unless your name is Bobby--then, it's your JOB) so I have felt like a walking zombie since about 3:30pm.

An hour and a half left before the boys' bed time. Wish me luck.

I certainly don't mean to be bitching and whining about being tired. I mean,... on any given day, are there really any of us who wouldn't trade just about anything for a nice, leisurely nap? I don't know what it is... maybe I'm fighting off some bug,...maybe I over-did things yesterday when Jeff was at work and I was alpha-parent here with the kids... who knows. Maybe I'm just being a big wuss. Whatever it is, I hope it's cured by a good night of sleep.

On a brighter (and somewhat graphic) note, I got to unwrap the splint I've been wearing since surgery last Wednesday. Someone should've told me that the pain meds were actually meant for use after the splint is removed. Ouch. I seriously don't think my wrist hurt this bad the day of the actual procedure. And before everyone gets all riled up and worried that I've become some kind of Vicodin addict, let me assure every last one of you that is far from the case. Seriously.

The boys were super impressed with the de-bandaging, with which Jeff was willing to assist. The only thing I'm a bit self-conscious about now is the incision closed with five tidy stitches on the inside of my wrist. I have a feeling I'm going to get a few "concerned" looks from well-meaning/nosy strangers. You know the look. The one that says, "Oh-that-poor-woman-must've-tried-the-unspeakable," or "Is-she-really-as-stable-as-she's-trying-to-make-us-believe-she-is?"

I should just look at them, perhaps twitch my eye a time or two and whisper, "All I wanted was a nap..."

oh, s**t...

This? Is what happens when the main sewer line in your house ends up blocked. This will make your husband call your cell phone 10 times in eight minutes in an absolute panic, telling you to please come home right away because he has to go to Menard's to buy a snake to clear the blocked pipe. And, by the way, no one can use toilets, sinks, showers, etc. until the problem is cleared up.

When the 25-ft. snake he bought doesn't get the job done, you have to call Roto-Rooter ON SATURDAY to come fix the blocked line. This causes much wailing and gnashing of teeth. And when you hear how much it's going to cost to have the Roto-Rooter guy solve this problem on one of the two days a week when you incur off-hour charges, you pretty much watch Christmas swirl down the newly flushable toilet like a... well, you get the picture.

I blame the Vicodin...

Right now, I have three 10-yr-olds and two 7-yr-olds (all boys, by the way) in the den watching "A Christmas Story."

What the hell was I thinking?

Just kidding. We planned this sleep-over night a long while back. I had a grand idea of designating tonight as one of our first holiday treat baking nights, letting the five extra pairs of hands help where they could. At the very least, I'd have five expert treat tasters. Then, I was scheduled for surgery on my wrist this past Wednesday and,... well... once I realized how very incapacitated I would be, plans changed.

I snapped this with my good hand Wednesday afternoon while I took up residence on the den sofa. The problem had been a cyst which had formed just below the area where your thumb meets your wrist. It's the part where nurses will take your pulse. Having a cyst there felt like having a badly sprained wrist. Constantly. And this is my dominant arm... which means I continually hoist my purse and the diaper bag onto my right shoulder. Doing this with what feels like a sprained wrist was less than comfortable. All. The. Time. So, it had to come out.

Now, two days post-procedure, things are OK. I overdid things a bit yesterday, but Jeff was working, so I was alpha-parent in charge of Bobby for 24 hours. I am prohibited from lifting anything greater than 10 pounds. Darling Bobby is well over 10 pounds. In fact, he tipped the pediatrician's scale at 20 lbs., 6 oz. at his check-up today. All day yesterday, I had to be creative and, above all, careful as I lifted him and carried him around. I managed, just shy of assembling a staggering display of ropes and pulleys. But today? Oy vey, am I paying for it. I skipped my pain meds yesterday, opting out of being high as a kite on Vicodin while driving the kids to and from school. Today, however, since Jeff is here, my two little white pills every six hours has been a slice of pain-free heaven.

So, anyway, back to the room full-o-boy I have here. I'd love to say I blame my decision to host this overnight extravaganza on the painkillers. However, as I said, we planned this night a while ago. I feel kinda bad that I'm not going full Betty Crocker and providing a bit of holiday baking fun. But the boys are watching "A Christmas Story," and playing video games. And as luck would have it, Kate and Dylan are here in the kitchen ready to start baking some cookies. How I lucked into an evening of holiday movies AND cookies (that I'm not responsible for baking) I'll never know... but I sure wouldn't trade it for anything.

Roadtrip Recap

Well... we made it.

We survived our trip to New York and back, although there were a few moments in the car when I seriously had my doubts. I was sure someone (and by someone, I mean ME) would end up riding home strapped to the rooftop luggage rack. At least with the wind whistling in my ears, I wouldn't be hearing the seemingly incessant, often obnoxious boy-chatter from the back of the van.

We actually left within 30 minutes of our target time on Wednesday morning. For us? That's phenomenal. The trip over was broken up with a stop after 2.5 hours at my parent's house in Ohio. After a brief stretch and mandatory bathroom break, we were on the road again for the final four-hour stretch to western NY. Seeing my grandmother that night was terrific -- it had been a few years since the boys and I made the trip out East. And this time, she got to meet Jeff and Bobby.

Thursday, we rode over to my aunt's house for the family feast. I was on cloud nine seeing my family, introducing everyone to Jeff, watching their reactions to how Jack, Charlie and Sam had grown, and getting their first look at Bobby. Before we went in the house, however, I briefed Jeff.

"We're a loud bunch," I told him. "There are a lot of us, so when we all get together and everyone's talking, we're always trying to talk over other people... it can get pretty obnoxious." He just smiled.

So, of course, we get inside and walk smack into a wall of noise. Ahhhh... family. The rampant conversation was peppered with lots of laughter, and hugs abounded. It wasn't long before dinner was ready, and we all dug into a wonderful feast. Even Bobby sat on my lap and that little stinker ate nearly my entire helpings of sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes. He just kept looking up at me with those clear blue eyes... mouth agape and ringed with bits of orange...how could I resist? And speaking of things hard to resist...I have to mention the pie buffet. At the end of our holiday dinner, we had not just a couple of pumpkin pies to enjoy, but an actual BUFFET of pies to choose from. Three or four pumpkin pies were joined by two apple, a chocolate pudding pie, orange chiffon and... oh, shoot. I know I'm forgetting one, but I forgot nothing when I went to get dessert for Jeff and myself. I assembled a modest slice of each pie, spanning two plates -- a "Pie Sampler" I called it, and was not ashamed to dig in and enjoy every last delicious, whipped-cream-laden bite. (Even though my mom was wide-eyed with disbelief at the pile-o-treats. All I could say was, "This? Is why I run.")

The next day, we took the boys up to Niagara Falls. They hadn't been there in a few years, and none of them really seemed to remember it. They had a good time, and even Bobby enjoyed the scenery as he hung on me in the Baby Bjorn carrier. We had lunch at Hard Rock Cafe, then visited the aquarium. By the end of the afternoon, we'd had our fill of the area, and headed back to the hotel.

We headed back home Saturday morning, after visiting again with my grandma. The trip home seemed like it took forever--largely because Jack & Charlie lost use of their Nintendo DSs for a rule infraction the previous day. Let's just say when two 10-yr-old boys get going with "boy humor" and the Pict-o-chat feature on their DS games, nothing good can come of it.

All in all, though, despite the ride home testing every last nerve Jeff and I had to offer... it was a great few days. I loved seeing my family, and it reminded me how thankful I should always be-- I have, not only my wonderful husband and great kids, but a fantastic extended family as well. Even if it can be almost deafening when we all get together, there's also lots of pie.