Thursday's Not Looking So Hot Either

I started my day with a whack to the eye.  On the one hand a tough way to start the day but on the other hand it gives me hope that it can only get better from there.

The R.A. decided to take a pass on sleep last night/this morning.  When my husband got home from work at about 2 AM, he heard the gentle crashings of Thomas trains and the R.A. emitting mellow yowls .  At that point the goings on were quiet enough that I slept through them and when I say "quiet" I mean on par with the Battle of Bunker Hill as opposed to storming the beaches of Normandy.  So "regular" people probably would not be able to sleep through it. My husband climbed into bed clinging to the delusion that the R.A. would go to sleep. It isn't faith or courage that causes one to hold on tightly to hope in the midst of impossible odds.  It's sleep deprivation which makes one somewhat nutty.  Isn't that the definition of insanity - doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome?

I managed to slumber through until about 3:45 AM.  It was at that point that the shrieking started - now things sounded more like the opening scene from Saving Private Ryan.  My husband stumbled out of bed and brought the R.A. into our room.  As the R.A. ran into the bedroom, his dad told him to get into the bed.  The R.A. ran over to my side of the bed and promptly whacked me in the eye.  I think it was his way of saying, "Gee, Mommy-Lady, you're not supposed to be there.  That's my spot."  We hustled the R.A. into the bed. With the R.A. liberated and somewhat quiet, my husband went to use the bathroom facilities.  He was quickly joined by the R.A. who yowled and then, despite his father's protests,  turned off the bathroom light.  The R.A., with a sense of a job well done, climbed back into bed next to me.

Grunting, my husband returned to bed. By this point, after all the early early morning high-jinx, the R.A. had worked up an appetite.  He turned to his father and said, "Sowwy, Duddy"(translation: Sorry, Daddy.)  Then he said, "Eat chip."  We like to think it was the R.A.'s way of saying, "Sorry, old boy, to be a bother, but might I have some chips?"  His father tried to finagle some compassion out of the R.A. and bargain for some time, pleading exhaustion.  The R.A. wasn't having it and demanded, "Eat chip now!"  Again his dad stumbled out of bed.  While he was gone, the R.A. quasi-cuddled into me.  Next he spent time pinching my arm and tugging on my arm hair.  I don't know if the R.A. was torturing me or if he was taking some sort of measurments for my shackles for when the invasion comes.  Of course I let him go at it because at least he wasn't running around the room.  His father re-appeared with chips and juice and settled back into bed.  Unfortunately the R.A. was not pleased with the juice and placed the cup on top of his father's head saying, "Want juice.  Want juice now."  My husband didn't even bother arguing.  Knowing he was beaten, he meekly took the cup and without a sound went down to the kitchen. 

The R.A. took this time to stretch his legs and began jumping up and down on the bed.  I decided it would be more relaxing to do 5 miles on the elyptical at the gym so got out of bed and began readying myself.  After dressing I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.  Almost immediately a tiny hand crept around the door frame toward the light switch.  I had already surrendered my nice cozy bed.  I would be dog goned if I would give up the light too.  "Oh, no you don't!" I bellowed, well hissed because I didn't want to wake up my daughter.  We wrangled and I manhandled him out of the bathroom, quickly closing the door.  He did not take kindly to this and hurled himself at the door, repeatedly.  Luckily I still have a few pounds on him and I was able to keep him out.  By the time I finished my morning "toilette" the R.A. was tucked back in the bed - on my side.  I swear he smirked at me.

After a "restful-by-comparision" visit to the gym, I schlepped softly up to my room.  There I discovered both of my boys were passed out in the bed, in almost identical sleep positions.  They looked very sweet and peaceful.  It took every ounce of self control not to get a running start and fling myself onto the bed.  You're welcome, boys.

Tuesday's Not Looking So Good Either

Today the R.A. was up at 4 AM-ish and again waking up on the wrong side of his mound of pillows.  He yowled loudly and angrily while raking Thomas trains across his hard wood floors.  What a sweet cacophony! When the R.A. wakes at an un-Kitchen Godly hour we do not rush to pull him out of bed.  We wait and see just how furious and loud he gets.  Then we like to see if we can gauge it so that we pull him out before he gets so worked up that he boofs.  It's sort of our version of chicken but far more devastating.  We are not being mean it's just that as we say, "You pull him, you own him" meaning now you have to keep tabs on him and try and prevent him from climbing high shelving via a medicine ball balanced precariously on top of a trampoline (of course - how else would one reach the top shelf?)  This morning I went to the gym as it was decidedly more fun doing 3.5 miles on the StairMaster than wrangling the R.A. out of precarious situations.

I don't know what transpired in my absence but I came home to find a bag of Munchos dumped at the bottom of the stairs heading up to the second floor.  The house was in complete darkness but the R.A.'s soulful caterwaulings could be distinctly heard.  As I surveyed the pile of Munchos I looked up  and at the top of the stairs, bathed in an eery light stood the R.A., silently staring down at me.  He stimmed madly at me and then trotted off.  It was sort of creepy in a "Children of the Corn" kind of way and I briefly wondered if he had done something to the rest of the family other than tormenting them with an early morning concert of his "Top 10 Yowls."  But then I looked at the clock and knew I had to get breakfasts prepared, lunch packed and other exciting tasks.  I didn't see any trails of blood so decided all was fine.

By the time I headed back upstairs to get ready for work, the R.A. had shut himself back in his room. He did venture out briefly while I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth.  We engaged in a quick tussle over the light switch but it was very half-hearted on his end, almost perfunctory.  The R.A. didn't even yowl.  After that he returned to his room where I heard a continuous "SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!"  As I didn't hear any crying I didn't check on him. At least he was occupying himself and quiet.  Frankly I was grateful for a second day of uninterrupted showering and being able to choose  my clothes with the lights on.  Day two of matching footwear!  They don't know what to make of me at work because I'm arriving looking so well put together.  I should have told them to take a picture as I know it won't last.

I Don't Like Mondays

I don't know if the R.A. was upset that the 49-ers lost (I never would have pegged him for an SF fan but stranger things have happened, particularly where the R.A. is concerned.) but this morning the R.A. woke up on the wrong side of the mound of pillows he sleeps on and under.  The boy woke up NASTY.  His yowling had a more pronounced bite to it, sounding more like an angry howling.  To make sure there was no question as to how infuriated he was, the R.A. also kicked mightily at his door. As my husband and I stumbled around each other in the kitchen getting breakfasts and lunches packed, the yowling and banging intensified.  I confess that I think we dawdled a bit in a pitiful attempt to postpone heading upstairs.  We were going to be starting out at a pronounced disadvantage as my husband would be presenting the R.A. his juice in an unacceptable cup.  Unfortunately the officially sanctioned R.A. juice cups were in the dirty dishwasher.  We knew enough to anticipate the R.A's significant and impending displeasure.

Bracing ourselves, we headed upstairs.  Even after my husband let the R.A. out of his room the R.A. was not satisfied.  He caterwauled viciously.  Initially I think it was because his man-servant (his father) didn't hustle fast enough for the R.A's liking.  Not only that but then his father had the temerity to attempt to give him the unacceptable juice cup.  The R.A. would not even deign to touch the offending cup and his father had to exchange it for a juice box which was grudgingly accepted while ranting (no doubt about the substandard service.)

I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when the R.A. finally stomped out of his room.  He returned my cheery "Good Morning!" with a yowling snarl (translation: What's so good about it?  Who said you could address me? Get that alarmingly insipid expression off your face!) accompanied by a look of thunder.  Apparently I had further annoyed the R.A. by having the audacity to have the bathroom lights on.  Caterwauling furiously he hip checked me out of the way and turned off the lights.  Most mornings I do comply with the "no lights" rule however this particular morning was especially dark as it was overcast and I wanted to at least be able to see the sink when it was spitting time.  So I turned the lights back on.  The R.A. did not take kindly to my overt insubordination.  With a yell worthy of Braveheart, he lunged at the light switch.  We tussled for a bit before I managed to wrangle him out of the bathroom.  I then raced back into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.  The lock is broken so I then had to lean on the bathroom door to keep the R.A. from getting back in which he was attempting to do by throwing his entire body weight at the door, all the while screeching in fury.  The R.A. appears to be scrawny but he is freakishly strong.  I really had to brace myself to keep him from forcing the door open.  Mind you, I did all this wrestling and bracing while simultaneously still brushing my teeth and I am proud to state that I did not dribble one drop of toothpaste during the entire struggle.  R.A.'s mom's got mad skillz!

After a while the R.A. grew bored of the tedious endeavor and decided to head downstairs.  As my mother, who is recovering from surgery, was asleep on the couch, the R.A.'s dad attempted to discourage this endeavor:

R.A.: Yowl! Yowl!  Cateryowl!
R.A.'s Dad: I know you want to go downstairs but your grandmother is sleeping down there.
R.A.: Yowl! Yowllll! Yowl! Yowl!
R.A.'s Dad: No, don't go down those stairs!  Don't you do it!
R.A.: Yowl! YOWL! YOWLLLLL! Yow-elll!!!
Silence
R.A.'s Dad: (in quiet tone of desperation): I'm coming.

Although I'm sorry that the R.A. did descend to the living room and interrupt his grandmother's slumber, it did mean I had the rare luxury of showering with the lights on.  Thank you, R.A.'s Nana for taking one for the team!

Despite doing exactly what he wanted, the R.A. was still very unhappy and spent a good deal of his time ranting.  He paced the living room caterwauling and waving his arms, bringing to mind a mini Mussolini (if the Italian dictator wore dinosaur footie pajamas backwards with the feet part cut off - yes, the PJ's are supposed to be that way.  It's a loooonnnggg story...)

After a while my husband realized he couldn't postpone it any longer and had to get the R.A. dressed.  He half carried, half wrangled the R.A. up to his room where the R.A. loudly articulated his displeasure at being treated in such a manner.  I surmised the dressing didn't go so well when the R.A. appeared back in the living room in nothing but a Pull Up.  At that point I left for work.  I don't know if that was the state Mr. January left for school in.  I was still riding a high from being exposed to so much artificial lighting first thing in the morning and was basking in the glow of knowing that my entire ensemble matched.  I am fairly certain the R.A. did head off to school in more clothing as there's probably some school rule about it.  Of course it was probably whatever his father could wrestle him into so might have been an old Thomas the Tank Engine costume and his sister's Hello Kitty wellies.  At least he would be dressed in more than a Pull Up.

Unfortunately the R.A.'s mood did not improve as the day progressed.  After I let him out of his room following his afternoon rest I attempted to straighten out his pillows and blankets.  As it was dark by then, I felt the task required the use of lights.  The R.A. heartily disagreed.  Every time I turned the lights on and headed into the interior portion of his room the R.A. yowled and turned them off.  We did this several times before I shuffled him out of his room and into mine.  I closed him in my room and then sprinted to his room.  By the time it registered what had happened and the R.A. made his way back to his room, the task was done.  He stood in his doorway, took in the situation, ranted at me and then turned off the light.

Hard core crabbiness does make a young alien hungry and the R.A. spent most of the night noshing.  At one point he had a hankering for some Nutter Butter cookies.  This led to another instance of Greco Roman baby wrestling as I tried to wrench the container out of his hands - the R.A. is allergic to peanuts.  Regardless, he was infuriated by my unreasonableness. According to him it's just another instance of my busting his chops - Honestly, what is that woman's deal?

It's only 7 PM.  I don't think I have any strength left for more wrestling and I fear the R.A. is banking on this.  Kitchen God help me!

Update: Apparently maintaining such a high level of nastiness can take it out of a brilliant yet pint-sized alien.  By 7:30 PM the R.A. had tucked himself on the couch and proceeded to sit cozily while his eyes rolled back in his head, his typical getting ready for sleep pattern.  Of course the minute I put his PJ's on him he perked right up as if they were laced in caffeine.  Currently he is in his room doing things that involve yowling and clattering trains.

My Favorite Place in the World

As if having to spend the day being held hostage at his Institute of Earth Acculturation (school) isn't bad enough, the R.A. also has a teacher come to our house after school.  Obviously he is incredibly thrilled with the extra attention.  This is illustrated by the fact that when the teacher enters the house the R.A. greets her with "Bye, bye" or when he's feeling particularly hospitable a head butt to her legs. 

Prior to the after school visit, the R.A. spends some time in his room decompressing after his long day at the Institute being forced to do various distasteful things such as communicating in earth language, using the toilet for what earthlings intended, learning to wait his turn and other such abhorrent tasks.  No wonder he looks so wiped out when he gets home.  Sometimes the R.A. has had such an "Aye que dia!"* that he puts himself in his room.  As the R.A. drags himself up the stairs he yowls pitifully which I'm sure translates into, "My a#* is dragging!  Those women won't get off my back!"  Some days he's so spent he'll even fall asleep.

The R.A. runs hot and cold with regard to spending time in his room.  Primarily he is fine with it if he has initiated "room time."  It's not unusual for him to dislike "room time" at 3 AM because as the R.A. sees it, he didn't request to be in his room at that time therefore we deserve to be awakened by screeching and wall banging.  Weekday afternoons, however, the R.A. is far more amenable to remaining in his room after school, believing that if he remains in his room he doesn't have to have his session with his after school teacher.  Sometimes when we open his door a small voice says, "No.  No." and then a little hand appears and closes the door.  If it's an afternoon when his teacher is coming we end up hauling him out and by this point the soft "No's" are now several decibels higher.  We then have the added pleasure of wrestling him into a clean Pull Up.  The R.A.'s newest thing is refusing to put his shoes back on after the change.  I finally realized he thinks if he doesn't have shoes on he can't have his afternoon session.  Unfortunately for him we don't have the "No shirt, No shoes, No service" requirement.  This is hardly a formal establishment.

Not one to easily surrender, once changed, the R.A. will bolt out of his room and run into mine where he will jump into my bed and hide under the covers.  (That only fooled me eight or nine times.)  We then engage in a lively debate:

Me: Come downstairs, now.
R.A: No. 
Me: Come downstairs, now.
R.A: No.
Me: Come downstairs, now.
R.A: No.

You get the drift.  Finally I dig him out from the bed clothes and hustle him downstairs.  Sometimes this involves half carrying him while he yowls.  It's very exciting - will we make it down the stairs or won't we? 

This afternoon the R.A. faked me out and ran back up the stairs.  I found him in my room but in a new spot.  It was a new spot but still a familiar favorite.  I found him sitting on top of my mother's commode.**  He was sitting quietly while eating a Pringle and sipping juice, his little legs dangling off the edge.  The R.A. looked very content, an extremely rare sight.  It calmed him down enough that I was able to get him downstairs without much fuss.  He seemed to exude a sense of, "Now I'm ready."

Today, the first word out of the R.A.'s mouth upon seeing his after school teacher was, "Break" as in, "I really need a break."  Part of me understands this as there are some mornings I have to give myself a pep talk to enter my place of employment.  We all have those moments.  Maybe I ought to try some commode sitting.

*One of my mother's expressions.  It means "Oh, what a day!"
**My mother recently had surgery.  We are keeping her commode in a corner of our bedroom until the OT comes to install it in my mom's bathroom.  That is if the R.A. allows it to be moved.

Formal Letter of Protest

Translation of the above missive the R.A. wrote last night in a fit of anger to Central Command:

812th Day of Wmoeonglsothd in the 3526th Year of Our Kitchen God

Despite my ongoing dissatisfaction and resentments concerning this mission, I have attempted, time and time again, to do the best job I can under these atrocious circumstances. I am constantly combating the earth species astronomical stupidity and boorish mores. Lowering my personal standards to sub-basement levels,  I have accepted their barbaric use of Jacuzzis (toilets). I have withstood their endless torments (constant singing, ignited birthday cakes, pajamas.)  I have worked tirelessly to improve them as a "people" - weening them from bad habits such as sleep, curbing their dependency on artificial lighting, introducing them to finer dining (Dum Dums, Pringles, and gummies.)  Through it all I have done my duty. Although this assignment is impossible, have I complained?  Okay, have I complained much?  All right, have I complained much this week? 

I wish to enter a formal complaint of inhuman/un-alien treatment.  Last night my caregivers subjected me to a torture which I am certain violates the Inter-Galactic Accords.  The following is what transpired:

I was coaxed upstairs by the Daddy-Guy under the premise of a shower and diaper change.  I followed him, making it clear that I wasn't thrilled by either prospect as I always have better things to do.  (The floor is not going to color itself, you know what I mean?  Speaking of which, I don't know why they get their shorts in a twist when I do spruce up the floors.  Kitchen God knows it's always an improvement!)  Once we got upstairs it quickly became clear that the Big Man was not truthful.  He manhandled me onto a chair in the bathroom.  Next, the device of torture was pulled out - an electric razor (a very primitive earth device).  Daddy-Guy then proceeded to use it to (my hand trembles as I write this next part) SHEAR MY HAIR!  Oh, the horror! I was not going to allow him to remove my raven locks without a fight.  I did put up enough of a struggle that he finally had to summon the Mommy-Lady.  She used her chin and hands to hold my head still.  The nightmare was exacerbated by her cooing and singing.  I was so upset that I was unable to sleep that night which actually worked out to my advantage as I kept the family up most of the night. (Let me just say one thing about the bags under Mommy-Lady's eyes - if she were taking a plane in the near future they would charge her an extra baggage fee due to those two bad boys under her eyes.) They can take my fine silky hair but they can't take my propensity for mayhem, bald head or not!

I respectfully submit photos of the horrendous event as evidence:

I mean, honestly, look at that!  It's so short it's like all I have left is a mere suggestion of hair. It also  highlights my chubby cheeks and their sprinklings of freckles making me look even more adorable. Seriously? I've caught my reflection a couple of times and I've distracted myself with my own preciousness.  How am I supposed to exact world domination while being so damn cute?  It's completely undercut my credibility. 
I further recommend an immediate vaporization of the entire planet in retaliation for my treatment. 

I look forward to hearing from you!

Respectfully submitted on this date by Q-Quork 7

The Mouth of a Warrior

That my family is considered woefully wimpy by the R.A. is not news.  He has spent the better part of his mission here on earth attempting to get us to man up or rather "alien up." Occasionally the R.A. tries to lead by example.  He has been engaged in his current "alien-ing up" exercise since last week. Let's just say it has been painful for everyone involved, himself included.

The R.A. has been battling some sort of issue with his mouth.  As he refuses to communicate clearly in earth-speak, we don't know what the specific problem is.  What we have observed is that the R.A. is experiencing great discomfort when he eats.  This is evident by the yowling and crying that now accompanies feeding time which I'm pretty sure interprets into, "Holy (insert expletive here)!  My mouth is (insert expletive here) killing me!  Although you think staring at me with sappy expressions, attempting to hug me, and cooing is helping me, it's not!  Can either of you morons do something to end the agonizing pain?"  Then, because we are stupid, so stupid that it momentarily distracts him from the pain, in desperation the R.A. whimpers, "Boo boo mouth" and further reinforces it with a visual -  holding a tissue to his mouth while softly moaning.  He then shoots us a withering look that clearly says, "Get it now, idiots?"

My husband did take the R.A. to the dentist who, of course, doesn't see anything.  He guesses that the R.A. is teething.  Six year olds teethe you ask, in great surprise?  Yes, apparently they do as some molars come in about that age. ( I don't recall my daughter going through such a thing but then again, after she had her chest cracked open at 6 days old there really isn't anything else they can do to her that will ever be as bad, therefore her tolerance is pretty high. She is one tough broad.)  For most kids it is a mild discomfort.  As always the R.A. is an over-achiever so for him it's excruciating.

The foods that really seem to aggravate his condition are Pringles, Munchos, and ketchup.  Therefore we don't eat them, right?  WRONG!  Big, fat, tremendously, fantastically wrong!  No, we don't avoid them.  Instead those are the foods that we insist on eating.  We have tried to offer non salty or non acidic foods like bananas which he refuses, enraged that we would even deign offer them.  We've also tried to give him a Popsicle, thinking the cold would be soothing.  Unfortunately our earth logic leaves much to be desired and that offering was not only soundly rejected but accompanied by infuriated yowlings.  I've even tried hiding the pain-inducing foods but (no surprise) I was out maneuvered.

The R.A. will grab (albeit gingerly as it is not permitted to be broken) a chip, break a tiny piece off ( in the permitted fashion ), put it in his mouth and begin to chew.  Almost immediately he will begin to yowl and chin himself.  Depending on the level of pain, he may also chin anyone else in the room.  While still yowling, the R.A. will place another minuscule piece of chip in his mouth.  This will intensify the yowling and chinning.  But will he stop?  Absolutely not.  He is determined to show that chip who is boss - he will eat through the pain or die trying. "I will eat that chip if it's the last thing I do, so help me Kitchen God!"  The R.A. will rage through a few more chips before collapsing in a heap of fury and frustration, giving us a look that seems to say, "So there!" Obviously we're supposed to learn from his valiant example, never give up, no matter how much it hurts.  I wonder if he's aiming for some kind of medal of honor on the home planet.  That would explain a lot.

I Mean Seriously, What Are the Odds?

Tonight, in a foolish fit of feeling adventurous, I decided to have a night out with the children.  As my husband works second shift, I would be on my own with, as we affectionately call them, the "Gruesome Twosome" (G2).

Our big night out commenced with a visit to the hospital.  Thankfully, no, not the E.R. (but for those who know my family it would automatically be assumed.)  Last week my mother had surgery and she asked if I would bring the G2 to visit her as she missed them.  Even though it was pretty obvious that it was really the meds. talking, I agreed.  Her one "recommendation" (read: "requirement") was that I put the R.A. in our ancient stroller that way he wouldn't race around the halls or attempt to jump up and down on random patients' beds.

Whenever one engages in any undertaking involving the R.A., the prevalent emotion is trepidation but I put on my big girl pants and off we went to the hospital.  I gave myself a pep talk and really fired myself up.  As I put the car into drive I think I got a bit carried away as I did holler, "Remember San Juan Hill!"* to which my daughter responded, "Oh, brother" and I distinctly felt a "she's soooo lame" eye roll.  I had an inkling it wasn't going to proceed well when we turned into the hospital entrance and the R.A. began keening in the backseat.   Unfortunately the R.A. is intimately acquainted with the hospital having required the services of the E.R. on many occasions.  As you can imagine those visits were extremely traumatic for everyone involved including  and perhaps especially hospital staff (I wouldn't be surprised if a few, after the experience, ditched working with people and changed to medical research.)  One low light was getting a cut on his head glued shut.

For someone who cannot identify what a spoon is, the R.A. can easily identify any medical establishment, even one that he has never visited.  We've driven by dental offices and he's had nuttys.

Determined, I kept driving into the parking lot, all the while shouting in a panicked sing-songy voice, "No doctor for you!  Let's visit Nana!  Hi, Nana!"  Oddly enough this did not calm him.

The next challenge was squashing the R.A. into the stroller.  Although quite small for his age he is still an alien in a 6 year old body.  He does fit in the stroller but the strap was too tight and I had a heck of a time getting it to snap closed.  I struggled so hard that I was beginning to sweat from the effort.  It also didn't help that the parking lot had practically no lighting and I couldn't really see what I was doing - a couple of times I thought I was victorious only to discover that I had inserted the strap into the R.A.'s jacket pocket.  As I wrestled, my daughter remarked, "We're going to be here all night."  I was already on edge between the R.A.'s yowling and the impromptu wrestling match with the stroller so you can imagine how well I took her observation.  Let's just say that if I ever begin a remark to you with, "Suffering Mother of Jesus!" head for the hills.

Finally, and only a mere 10 minutes later, I sort of had the R.A. strapped in.  For all intents and purposes he was strapped in, it was just done very creatively and not exactly how the stroller manufacturers intended.  Throwing caution to the wind (and common sense out the window) off we went.  All the while the R.A. was yowling and I was doing my irritating, "No doctor for you!  Visit Nana!  Hi Nana!"  It was even more irritating as I was huffing and puffing from the effort of pushing the stroller which was made even harder as the R.A.'s feet were dangling on the ground.

We entered the hospital.  I cannot imagine why, but we seemed to attract everyone's attention.  Now that I think about it, I believe it was because my daughter was wearing a headband with cat's ears on it.

Fortunately my mother's room was located no where near the hospital entrance so we got to march our strange little parade around a good chunk of the facility.  We're probably lucky the place didn't go into lock down on account of us.  Little blessings all around!

After completing our version of the Bataan Death March, we finally reached my mother's room.  She was thrilled to see us (again I suspect the result of strong pain medication).  The R.A. showed his delight by keening and yowling in anger and desperation although he did say, in the middle of his tirade, "Hi, Nana" which pleased his grandmother. 

My daughter and I attempted to visit with my mother.  The R.A. was working himself up into a right frenzy.  I ended up turning his stroller so that he faced the wall, thinking that if he couldn't see anything he would calm down.  No dice.  The R.A.'s caterwauling only increased, punctuated by occasional "Bye-Byes."

After a pleasant 15 minutes, we took our leave of my mother.  She didn't look sorry to see us go.  Neither did her roommate, hospital staff, or other visitors.

A fun evening yes, but it was no where near over yet.  This fun night out included dinner.  With shaking hands I inserted the key into the car ignition, took a deep breath, and thought how easy Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders had it.

As my daughter is like the Patty Hearst** of our little group I let her pick where we would go for dinner.  She selected Papa Gino's.  Although it's on the other side of town, I readily agreed as there is a McD's in the same plaza.  And, okay, maybe a small part of me thought that where it's clear on the other side of town our chances of running into anyone who knew us (or even knew of us) were slim.

I WAS WRONG!

At Papa Gino's I still had a bit of the shakes from our hospital visit.  This was illustrated by the fact that I initially I ordered "cheperoni cheepa" (translation: "pepperoni pizza".)  To her credit, the young woman behind the counter just looked at me carefully and said slowly, "You mean, pepperoni pizza?"  Still feeling somewhat traumatized I would have agreed if she asked me, "You mean, creamed cows' brains?"

Once I got the children settled in our booth, I started to decompress and was even beginning to feel proud of myself that I was "managing" (in our world that means both children were alive and present and accounted for.)  And then it happened.  THE MOM AND SON WE'D ENCOUNTERED DURING LAST YEAR'S DISASTROUS "NAPKIN INCIDENT" WALKED IN!  What are the freakin' odds? 

I took deep cleansing breaths to calm myself.  Maybe they wouldn't recognize us.  As long as we all ate with our heads down we would be fine.  Of course the son ran by our booth and loudly called out "Hi!" to my daughter.  I could also tell from a quick glance in the mirrored wall that the mom had seen us and she had immediately recalled last year's "napkin incident."  A funny expression flickered over her face and she walked by our table, determined not to make eye contact.  Okay, I get that we are a rather unorthodox and somewhat colorful group but we don't go around kicking puppies or engage in other vile activities publically).  That got my back up.  She had whipped out her phone and was making like she was on it so I boldly did everything I could to catch her eye.  When I stood up and waved my arms wildly she had no choice but to make eye contact and waved her hand limply.  I smiled smugly and sat down.  Oh, yeah.  Take that.  Point to me.  I will not be ignored! (Mind you somewhat incredible considering that not 30 minutes prior at the hospital I would have given my right arm to be ignored. I am a fickle one)

As I sat there, I thought that tonight we were in a better place as opposed to last year, primarily because I knew enough to ask/demand extra napkins at the McD drive-thru.  Tonight the R.A. was sitting next to me, quietly and contentedly munching his french fries and licking ketchup off his soggy chicken nuggets.  If one didn't look too closely we appeared almost normal.  And everyone had on matching shoes.

Toward the end of the meal the R.A. finally noticed that the wall he was sitting next to was actually a mirror.  He really enjoyed watching other diners in the mirror.  Eventually the R.A. realized that his own likeness was reflected in the mirror.  He crowed delightedly and pointed out his own eyes, nose, mouth, etc.  Then the R.A. saw that he could make faces in the mirror.  He especially was captivated by his mouth, teeth and tongue.  My daughter and I laughed at his antics.  I basked in the fun and normalcy of it.  But then it turned ugly - the R.A. began licking his reflection.

My feeling of smug superiority quickly evaporated and we slunk out of the restaurant.  Our evening culminated with me telling my daughter to mind the puddle of throw up that we came across on our walk to the car.  Despite me warning her twice, she still managed to step in it.  Very apropos.

I can't wait until next year's Papa Gino's encounter during which I am sure we will inadvertently burn the place down.


*A cry to rally troops, referencing the glory of Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders charging San Juan Hill.

**A kidnapped heiress who was brainwashed and dragged on bank heists against her will.

I Color Therefore I Am

In addition to being a military genius, great orator, and death-defying daredevil, the R.A. is also a passionate artiste.  His primary medium is crayon although he will dapple with pencil, ink, and Sharpie Marker if available (the availability of the latter three is based on his parents' preoccupation or level of deep sleep/exhaustion.)

The R.A.'s artistic Renaissance has been a long time coming.  A few years back my husband and I, along with the R.A., went out to lunch.  The hostess said hello to the R.A. and he warmly returned her greeting by saying no and refusing to look at her.  Not wanting the hostess to be offended by the R.A.'s seemingly antisocial response, we said that the R.A. was autistic.  The waitress enthusiastically replied, "That's wonderful!  I'll make sure to give him lots of crayons."  We didn't bother correcting or explaining that we said autistic not artistic.  At that point in time the R.A. was markedly uninterested in coloring with the crayons preferring instead to tear the paper off them and then snapping the crayons in two.  Luckily the hostess did bring lots of crayons.  It kept the R.A. busy enough that my husband and I got to eat most of our meals.

The R.A. has really evolved as an artist.  His style is bold - think Paul Klee mixed with Animal from the Muppets.  As far as color use goes, the R.A. goes through color periods where his work is limited to one color - his yellow period, his blue period, etc.  Currently he is in his magenta period.

His passion is so all encompassing that it cannot be limited to the traditional and pedestrian canvas such as paper or coloring book.  Right now the R.A. rejects these, opting instead for floors, walls, windows, furniture, clothing, and occasionally himself or his sister.  Obviously what the R.A. is saying, through his art, is that it just cannot be contained as it is so great.  His art seeps into the fabric of our lives.  Literally.

Although the R.A. has always had an affinity for coloring, it has really blossomed within the past few weeks.  This explosion began after we discovered that he had smuggled a crayon into his room.  One morning we discovered his room had been transformed into a post modern version of a golden sunrise.  Perhaps my husband and I are philistines, but we did confiscate the crayon.  Refusing to be thwarted and illustrating yet again his superior intelligence, the R.A. smuggled in another crayon, actually he smuggled in crayons repeatedly and now the room is veritable rainbow of colors.

We do want to encourage his artistic expression but would like to direct it toward paper.  The R.A. routinely fakes us out by sitting nicely at his little table with crayons and paper, seemingly contentedly coloring away, sometimes muttering "Colah, colah, colah" as he does.  In reality he is just waiting us out.  The minute we leave the room the crayon leaps from the substandard coloring book onto the nearest inappropriate surface.  Last night it was a wooden tray table which is now half magenta.

I'm currently thinking that my husband and I could try to make some money off of his art.  (It would really help offset the cost of cleaning supplies.)  We could market him as an autistic artistic genius.  In addition to the rare "on paper" created works we could also sell items he colored on such as tables and clothing, taking advantage of the functionality of his creativity.

Following are some samples of his work.  If you are interested in purchasing any or commissioning the R.A. to make your dining room set a one of a kind work of art, let me know.