Boy Out of Context

Every Little Thing

The past few weeks have been filled with various annoyances.  Minor, all of them, but it's getting to the point that I wake up each morning wondering what fresh irritation awaits me. 

Our computer, which we suspected was close to its end, started doing various things that made me wish I'd been a little more proactive with backing up things like the pictures of the kids.  The touchpad stopped working although it worked fine with a mouse, but there were these menacing noises.  We decided to suck it up and replace the laptop (the really nice part about a lack of interest in technology is that the new computer is much faster than our limping one but is way behind what's available which equals pretty cheap).  The next day I started uploading pictures and videos to smugmug.

Which is when the mouse died.

Next day I went to replace the mouse.  What should have been a two minute errand turned into a nightmare as I had to pry multiple mice (mouses?) from Julia's grip.  They were in the shape of race cars.  Curse you, race car mouse creator.  She screamed all the way out of the store.  I continued on with the uploading.

Which is when the internet went out.

Two phone calls and several hours later, involving changing cords and resetting and plugging in and taking out and my extreme irritation at the insistence on following the script at all times ("Okay, I'm outside by the phone box now, what should I do?"............."Before you exit the house, are there any dogs or dangerous animals outside?"   I was so confused by that question I thought the guy must have known I was a vet and was about to ask my advice on something).  After all of that we did finally find the problem: it was with the phone company, it was widespread, and it was fixed the next day.

Paul helps organize a math and science fest for school kids and we take Max and Julia.  This year, Julia and I picked Max up from school and headed downtown.  The normal parking area of the convention center was closed so I was directed to proceed to the end of the street and turn right.  I went to the end of the street.  Where I ran into a funeral procession.  A procession so long that they had multiple police escorts.  Max's method of dealing with people in his way is to scream, "HOOONNNNKKK!!!  HOOONNNKKKK!!!" It's embarrassing when we're walking.  It's a nightmare when you're locked in the car with the kid.  

The several days of unseasonably cold weather forced us to have our furnace turned on and our swamp cooler shut down for the season.  We then followed that up with unseasonably warm weather (90s).  And no swamp cooler. 

And the last thing making me cranky: I scheduled an appointment with my doctor (three MONTHS ago) and it's next week.  My goal with this appointment is to get back on my migraine meds including a preventative since my reproductive life is complete.  My migraines are frequent - on the right side, no aura.  A migraine that moves or has an aura is a bad sign.  On Monday a migraine started.  On the left.  I knew I was in for three days of hell that I survived with ice and cold medicine to let me sleep at night.  Today the migraine moved to the right side, which is at least bearable. 

I imagine that next week will all be sunshiney happiness since Maxalt should be back in the house (minus the sputtering when I learn about the new copay).  I should warn you that the first 20 minutes after taking it make me a little funky - Paul claims I threatened him with a knife the first time I took it, although in truth I simply threatened him and the knife being in my hand was incidental.  I will try to put down sharp instruments before I post next.

Cold snap

Yesterday it was in the 80s.  Today, in the 50s. 

I am mostly unfazed by the colder temperatures.  Unusual this time of year, sure, but I thought it was pleasant.  The checker at the grocery store today mentioned the cold weather, and I thought...this is cold? 

Of course, a couple of years ago a woman from down the street made a point of running to our house to yell at me for allowing Max to walk from the car to our front door in jeans and a sweatshirt when it was 56 degrees.  He should be wearing a jacket, she screamed.  And it didn't occur to me until that moment that while I am from the midwest and hardly consider this cold weather, my children are truly desert rats.  Snow is an abstract concept for them. 

Last night, knowing it would be cool, I put Julia in long pjs for the first time this year.  She screamed while I was getting her dressed.  "SHORTS!" she kept yelling.  I finally calmed her down with some milk, but she was royally put out by her attire for the evening.

She obviously prefers minimal attire, as she insists that her babies all be naked. 

This morning I was more disturbed when she was dressed.  There is that dreaded moment when you look at your last baby and realize you don't have a baby anymore and today was that day for me. 

Meet my little girl, who carefully chose which trucks she wanted to take with us today. 

After we returned from the grocery store and I convinced Julia that I did NOT need her help putting the groceries away, she asked to go outside to play.  I grabbed my book and my girl and headed out the back door with the dogs. 

She lasted five minutes.

While the temperature itself wasn't so terrible, one strong wind and she buried herself into my legs and cried to go back into the house.  We came in and I folded laundry.  A short time later, I found her in the living room.

Apparently, she used her kitchen to whip up a batch of soup in the dishes I crocheted for her birthday and then she curled up on the couch with a good book (my book, I might add).  Which to me sounds like a totally pleasant way to spend a windy morning although I was not invited to this party and was, in fact, kicked out from the couch nest so that I could fetch her a hot toddy. 

Desert rats, indeed.

Plotting against us

Max said two things today that have us concerned about what exactly they are teaching in public school these days. 

1. "I come from the government."

2. "I trust NO ONE!"

I'm starting to believe the CIA is recruiting on the preschool campus.  On the plus side, at least he'll have decent health insurance if he works for the government. 

Prior to admitting to Playgroup Failure 2.0 I read a group message board discussion about how to handle the upcoming holiday.  The general consensus among those who chimed in was against, but while some were willing to risk the dangers of trick-or-treating they were, across the board, not planning on letting the kids keep the spoils.

And then there's me.  I love Halloween.  I motherfucking EMBRACE Halloween as it is the one time of year I allow Reese's peanut butter cups in the house (supposedly to hand out but we all know that's a sham, right?).  With that in mind, we went to our first Halloween event tonight (additional trick-or-treating next Friday and of course on Saturday). 

Costumes are important to me and I prefer to make ours.  This was the first year Max expressed an opinion on the matter and I'm pleased he went fairly easy on me, coming up with ideas for himself and his sister.  I picked up the major pieces and did a minimal amount of sewing and a bit more gluing. 

Max the Dog Catcher was willing to wear his hat this year, although Julia Dalmation refused to wear the hat with her ears attached.

Julia was pretty surly (molars. coming. in. slowly).  So we let Max get some revenge for the non-stop screamfest we've had lately.

I couldn't find a miniature rabies pole so we had to make do with the cat net from work (yes, we really do use that on cats...why do you think we take them in the "back?")*

We did find the net useful when we were trying to move Julia through the crowd. 

We let them keep the candy, minus the peanut better cups.

*Kidding.  It's for feral cats.  Particularly feral cats that escape the cage and are climbing the walls. 

Hedging

They told us in school that our best diagnostic tool was a good physical examination. 

The history, too, certainly, although in our case the history is routed through someone besides the patient.  Case in point: I once examined a dog whose owners were insistent that the cause of the lameness was in the foot.  I examined the foot carefully - foreign bodies are very common around here, but I didn't see any wounds or cysts and the dog seemed happy enough to let me bend her toes this way and that.  I worked my way up the leg and as I bent her knee the dog lunged for my face.  At this point I stopped the exam and explained to the owners that I was pretty sure the cause of the lameness was actually the knee and we were going to need at least a muzzle and maybe some sedation.  And they looked at me, having witnessed my recent exchange with the dog, and said, "We really think it's in the foot." 

There are few things available to humans that we don't also have available to animals.  There are specialists aplenty.  CT.  MRI.  Chemotherapy.  Orthopedic surgery.  Kidney transplants.  And, hey, we even have cloning.  Take THAT, MDs. 

But all of the neat diagnostic and treatment tools cost money and this is where I've had a few problems lately. 

Don't get me wrong - I love the tests and the specialists and I think there's some really amazing work being done in animal care. 

But.

I've seen a few patients lately where I feel like I've been, reasonably, called out by the owners.  In one, a cat with a history of breathing difficulties and some funky rads that were inconclusive decompensated overnight.  The cat was presented to me in full respiratory distress with gums a color I don't ever want to see again.  I started emergency care but managed to snap a quick Xray which showed a chest full of fluid (somewhat changing my prior emergency care).  I told the owner what I saw on the Xray, but that I didn't know where the fluid was coming from.  I didn't know what the prognosis was. 

But I did, sort of.  While I didn't know the exact cause of the fluid the prognosis, considering the cat's history, was officially: Shitty. 

And I went through the whole thing of I-don't-know-for-sure-maybe-it's-treatable and the owner sort of doubted it and I sort of doubted it but I felt uncomfortable recommending euthanasia if I didn't know for sure.  And she took her cat to the specialist who made the official cancer diagnosis and the cat died soon after. 

Another owner brought me her older cat.  The cat had been seen months earlier for vomiting.  Some basic tests were run and nothing really popped out.  In the meantime, the owner adopted a young cat that became almost immediately critically ill, so the older cat was sort of brushed aside as he was the more stable.  But then he got a lot worse and by the time I saw him the clinical signs reported by the owner were troubling.  Really, troubling, actually, and what I thought would be a half hour appointment turned into an hour and a half long discussion.  Eventually I did take an Xray where I saw the large abdominal mass.

And it starts again: I don't know where the mass is.  I can't tell for sure from the Xray.  I don't know if it can be removed.  So technically I don't know if it can be treated. 

At one point the owner looked at me and said, "I know you're trying to be clinical here, but I have a feeling you're not saying something."  

A cat with that history and with the type of vomiting she reported to me?  The prognosis was likely: Shitty. 

She's a nice lady and she loves her cat and she took her cat for the ultrasound and her cat got a terminal diagnosis. 

So here's the problem I'm having.  Am I doing good by getting people the information they need to make a decision at the end of their pet's life?  Am I doing bad by making people spend several hundred dollars to confirm what I already suspected? 

There's no answer to this, I know.  The tools are there and some people will use them and some people won't.  Sometimes it's a money issue and sometimes it's an emotional one and in the end all I can do is provide information and let people make their choices.

But sometimes I feel nostalgic for Herriot's days when his hands and his brain were his only tools. 

Hey! Unto you!

I am so irritated with the whole playgroup thing at this point, but my idea that no one would notice on facebook was wrong.  Gah.  I had to deactivate my account for a spell, although some people (and Jen, I am so looking at you right now) are only available to me through facebook and I feel so out of the loop.  I just don't get the twitter thing. 

ANYWAY.

Paul and I decided to get some local flavor last week.  Max, Julia, and I met Paul at work and we all walked downtown together for Tucson Meet Yourself.  TMY is a very, very, small equivalent of Taste of Chicago (Oh, Chicago, have I mentioned how much I miss you?).  It's rather adorable in size but the food is pretty tasty and it gets a little bigger each year.  Paul insists on calling the event "Tucson, Eat Yourself," but Max changed the name to "Hey Tucson! You! Meet Yourself!"  He might need to be more commanding in the future, since I ran into someone I knew a few blocks away who had no idea this was even happening. 

Taste of Chicago might have introduced me to Ethiopean food, but TMY has frybread.  If you have never experienced frybread, please visit and we will find you frybread, because you can't even imagine until you have tasted.

 

Max and Julia know frybread. 

We followed that up with Thai, Chinese, Swedish...can't even remember.  It was all good.  We would have Polish food, but apparently the people running that booth were trying to recruit and Paul didn't whip out his half-Polish card (ironic, because he loves Polish food, I loathe it, but I've got the wonky last name with all of the consonents smushed together). 

I tried to get a decent picture of the stormtroopers together.  Where one isn't hitting the other, I mean.

After we met Tucson and ate ourselves, we started walking towards home, slowly, in hopes of keeping the kids in good spirits to catch a parade. 

The major parade in Tucson actually occurs in February.  Since that parade celebrates rodeos we don't so much go to that one.  There are parades for the obvious holidays but in 100+ degree weather we are uninclined to sit outside.  Anywhere. 

So, a parade on an October evening sounded perfect. 

The kids held out and we had a great time.  The Tucson Pride Parade.

All parades should have fire engines.

And drag queens. 

It was a great parade and the kids loved it.  The rest of the pictures are too dark but all of the fun and dancing was followed by a red ribbon representing those lost to AIDS that made me weep. 

Tucson, we have met you.

Outcome

I'm not sure what decided it. 

It may have been a recent transplant to Tucson who contacted me through the mom's group.  Her son is also on the spectrum and she wanted to know about resources.  I spent a long time responding, giving her names of people and therapists and schools and programs.  Information that I've collected over the past few years.  And....not even a thank you back?  That's weird, right?  I mean, just a 'thanks for your time' note would have been enough. 

There was also this slight mess involving a playdate with a waitlist.  I had to cancel a few days before since we were sick, so I went through the proper procedure: contact first person on the waitlist, confirm they can take the spot, and then change the RSVP online.  Not really rocket science.  Unless no one gets back to you and you end up spending the better part of a day trying to get hold of people who ignore you and then they end up being bumped into the playdate by someone else and then you have to try to contact the next person.  Ugh.  I think I was on the fourth person when I just gave up and changed my RSVP and decided they could figure it out themselves. 

But in the end I think it was something else.  A couple of weeks ago Max had several days off school.  On one of those days I packed up snacks and children and drove an hour away to some orchards.  We picked apples and pears and then we went to some fields nearby where we picked a ton of vegetables.  We had a great time. 

That afternoon I decided to use some of our fresh veggies in dinner.  I did something that day.  Something that I realized I could never admit to anyone else in the playgroup.  See, several months ago I admitted in mom's group company that I let Max play in our yard.  Alone.  Which apparently makes me a shitty mother.  Anyway, on that particular afternoon when I was prepping dinner Max wanted him to help.  So I pulled a step stool up to the counter, handed him some bell peppers, a cutting board, and a knife.  As I watched him I considered the reaction of the other moms - a FOUR year old! a KNIFE!  I did not hand him a butcher knife and ask him to mince the peppers.  I gave him our smallest paring knife and had him rough chop the veggies. 

He was so proud of himself and we talked about those delicious (if slightly large) peppers all that night.  Yes, he could have cut himself.  But sometimes?  He's going to cut himself.  Or he's going to trip out in the yard and I'm not right there and he'll have to pick himself up and either get on with things or come find me if he needs help.  And he's going to need to figure that out for himself.  

I think that was the moment that I decided.  I don't need any help thinking I'm completely screwing up my children - I can play that mindgame all by myself, thank you very much.  And if I can't even be honest with people because I fear the reaction I'll get, then it seems these women aren't really friends.  People I can be friendly to, sure.  But not friends. 

I officially quit the playgroup. 

I haven't totally decided how to handle facebook yet.  I intended to unfriend once I quit, but after a discussion with one of my sisters who temporarily deactivated her facebook account, I'm not sure.  My sister said she was contacted by several people almost immediately with various accusations of unfriending.  It may not be worth the headache.  Everyone involved is hidden or blocked (have I mentioned that I love Boulder?  Because between that advice and facebook lite, I love Boulder).  That decision is shelved for another day.  

On the same shelf where I keep the nunchucks that I let Max and Julia use to sort out their differences.

A letter to my daughter, two days before her second birthday

On this day two years ago, you and I were at the hospital. 

Technically Max and I were at the hospital and you were just along for the ride.  Max had been playing on our bed after dinner and he fell and sliced his head open just above his eye.  I took Max to the ER while Daddy stayed home with a fever.  Three hours later, with Max becoming more and more upset and refusing to sleep or even lay his head down on my shoulder, I did something.  I'm not sure if I should be proud or apologetic for my actions that night.  I don't usually condone lying.

I pretended I was in labor.

Doctors in the ER seem to feel very strongly that laboring women should not be there, so there were suddenly a whole lot of people in the room.  I was sitting in a wheelchair rubbing Max's foot while his skin was glued.  I called Daddy and he came to get us.  The nurses tried to get me to go upstairs to the L&D ward, but I insisted that I wanted to go to the hospital where my OB had privileges (really, we just went home).  I really wasn't sure why they were in that much of a hurry.  My labor with Max lasted 20 hours.

It turns out they had a right to be worried, since when you decided to come less than 48 hours later, my labor was less than 4 hours start to finish.  And if they hadn't purposefully slowed things down to give the antibiotics some time to run, you would have been born in about an hour and a half.  That was really just the beginning of the ways you have been different from your brother. 

It would be easiest to just chalk everything up to the fact you talk at this age.  It's the easiest way to explain it to most people, but the differences are much deeper.  The way you process and interact with your world is new to us.  Just the other day Daddy wanted to take you and Max out for a walk.  We were all bustling about, packing up the stroller.  As I was getting you buckled in, you noticed something that wasn't right and you squirmed out of my grasp and ran to the other end of the house.  You found my shoes and brought them to me and just in case I wasn't clear on the subject, you then pointed emphatically at my feet.  When I told you that I wasn't coming along on the walk, your grief was profound.  At the age of two, Max could not have processed all of this.  It would never have occurred to him that I needed shoes or that there was a way in which he could facilitate this.  It would not have bothered him if I wasn't coming on the walk. 

According to Max, you are still "ONE AND A HALF" years old today.  You will notice that your brother can be quite rigid.  Mostly we see it when you try to play with a toy in a manner he is not expecting.  He can be bullying in his attempt to correct you.  When you were younger I would typically step in, usually in your defense since you were younger, although I was often left feeling I was being somewhat unfair to Max.  But as you've gotten older you've shown yourself to be pretty capable of taking care of yourself and now I can often stand back and let the two of you try to sort out your own problems (minus physical violence - I always step in regardless of who is doing the pinching or shoving).  Sometimes it's hard for me not to just help things along between the two of you, but learning to negotiate difficult situations is a skill you will both need in the future.  FYI?  Screaming, while somewhat effective now, will not give you the desired result in the work place. 

One thing you should know about your brother: he does love you.  It's something I worried about quite a bit at first.  He can be hard on you at home.  But ever since you were born he's been very protective of you around other kids.  One time you were just a few weeks old and sleeping in your car seat.  Two children peeked in at you and Max grabbed my hand.  "They," he hissed, "are looking at our baby."  He considered it an outrage.  It reminds me a lot of one of my favorite books, That New Animal.  At the end, the two dogs decide that the new baby is theirs to hate as much as they want, and to like, just a little. 

There's another thing you should know about your brother.  He sees the world differently from you.  Differently from most people.  Things that come very easily to you, like interacting with other people and playing and being imaginative, are difficult for him.  There's nothing wrong with him.  His brain just works differently.  Some of the things he does might not make sense to you.  They might not make sense to me, but rest assured that Max usually knows what he's doing.  I've learned to trust his instincts, which sounds like a weird thing to say about a four year old, but it is fitting for him.  He needs help with most of the social niceties that the rest of us take for granted, but his thought process is typically dead on. 

I want you two to have a close relationship as you grow up.  I hope that each of you can play to your strengths and help one another along.  You can teach Max about good communication.  About how to interact with people in a respectful manner.  Max can teach you about astrophysics.  That kid has a mind for math and science and I strongly suggest you use that to your advantage in the future.  I feel better knowing that some day in the future when Daddy and I aren't around you two will have each other.  Between the two of you, all bases are covered. 

Some day you'll know about everything that Daddy and I went through to try to have kids.  The discovery that Max was on his way was a shock.  A good one, but still a shock.  When we found out you were coming I considered it a gift.  And every day with you since then has been a gift.  I worry so much about raising a daughter.  I worry about food and Barbie and body image and boys.  I worry, even now, about how anything I say or do might be interpreted by you.  I'm careful, sometimes, in how I talk about myself because I don't want any of my insecurities to become yours.  I didn't know going into this what it would be like to have a daughter, but I could never have imagined anything as wonderful for you.  I'm terrified I'm going to screw this up. 

And finally, my love, the rules:  you can get your ears pierced when you are 13.  You can go on one-on-one dates when you are 16.  And the same rules apply for your brother.  

I enjoy popsicles. Iguanas eat penguins. Isotopes envy protons.

Max's annual IEP meeting took place this past week.  It was definitely a different experience from last year. 

Last year I felt lost and somewhat helpless.  I knew my kid needed something but I wasn't sure what and I wasn't sure what was available.  I wanted the teacher to like me.  I wanted her to adore Max.  I wanted Max to detach himself from my leg for five minutes so we could discuss his needs. 

This year it felt much more collaborative.  Max and Julia came along.  Max was given the opportunity to play with the kids in the next room.  He declined, but it wasn't so much about his fear of other children as it was about the opportunity to boss his sister around in his classroom.  They went off to play while I sat down with two of Max's teachers and the speech therapist. 

They are pleased with Max's progress in the past year.  He's interacting with other kids more, sometimes even preferentially over the adults.  He still has trouble keeping a conversation on topic past more than about 2 turns but there is improvement.  The speech therapist had some concerns about articulation.  Max was able to present a case study of this right during the meeting, and I am not convinced articulation is the problem.  I understood him perfectly, but the topic came completely out of left field and if you didn't know 1. what he was speaking about and 2. why he brought it up, I can understand the, "Whaaaaaaa?" response the teachers had. 

So, yeah, context is still our issue. 

The only hard part was the discussion of feelings.  As in, other people's.  He is getting better.  I don't think he's a sociopath nearly as often as I used to.  His teacher is pulling him aside to ask him about other kids' emotions, particularly when he's been acting somewhat creepy to them.  He's starting to get it.  A little.  We're working on emotions of characters in books (our bad luck he's on a non-fiction kick...and how do you think the alligator feels about the swamp, Max?...do you think the tornado looks happy to be destroying that silo?).  He can consistently do happy, sad, and (thanks to me, no doubt) ANGRY.  You?  Reading this?  You do not feel bored or amused.  You feel happy, sad, or angry.  That's what we know.  

I did bring up his behavior at home.  I believe I used the word "demon spawn."  And we got some good ideas.  Max thrives on structure, so we're going to do a picture schedule of what will happen once he gets home from school (i.e. snack, time with me working on letters or with his social picture book, then playing with Julia).  The recommended a mat for tumbling/physical activity because he likes that at school.  He likes water play but we've had to cut back on hose stuff because he's killing our yard and house, but we thought maybe letting him wash dishes would be a good compromise.  His teacher suggested a timer and when Max is getting on my. last. nerve. he gets sent to his room for five minutes of quiet play while I'm within earshot. 

The speech therapist made a suggestion that surprised me - she recommended wrapping Max in a blanket and squeezing. 

Max was not a cuddly child.  He tolerated but did not seem to like being held.  He eschewed cuddles and hugs and kisses for a long time.  I had to train myself, as well as others, to ask before they approached him for any physical contact. 

But after this meeting I played with Max more physically.  I wrapped myself around him on the couch while whispering in his ear.  I pretended I didn't know he was sitting on an armchair and leaned back into him while pressing on him to rearrange the cushions.  He loved it and he surprised me by asking for more of that play. 

More cuddling of my child?  OKAY.

The last interesting part was about Max's diagnosis as ASD.  I don't care about the diagnosis so much.  If the diagnosis gets him some help, then the words themselves are meaningless to me.  His teacher understood that, but said that in the past several years she's been seeing more and more kids she classifies as "quirky."  Kids that have some social problems early on yet either age out of them or learn to compensate for them as they get older. 

Exactly like Paul did.

Craptacular Batacular

We have these days where things just get all crappy.  I find it helpful when Paul and I reflect on those days, mostly so we can figure out which one of us is (more) at fault. 

Yesterday was such a day.  Honestly the evening sucked so much that I can't remember exactly what happened in the morning, except that it wasn't much fun and I vaguely remember both Paul and I managing to get naps.  I think in the early hours Paul took the kids to a park and I vacuummed.  Or something. 

Anyway, we had what seemed to be a perfectly delightful evening planned.  We were going out for dinner and then to Bat Night.  Bat Night is this local...thing, I guess...where a bunch of people sit in a dry riverbed and you watch some performance art and then as the sun goes down you watch the something like ten thousand bats come out for the night from where they were sleeping under the bridge.  And I realize, as I write this, that it sounds completely absurd and stupid but the blurb in the paper made it sound really cool. 

Also realizing why I don't write ads. 

Anyway, we drove up towards the riverbed early so that we could find a parking spot and then we walked over to a nearby restaurant.  Nothing good was happening there.  Lesson One: Don't let Max get all riled up during a playdate immediately before going out for dinner (FAULT: PAUL).  Lesson Two: Don't let the hostess talk you into a booth rather than the table with high chair (FAULT: CHRIS).  Dinner climaxed when Julia threw her chopsticks, grazed me in the head, and hit the people at the next table.  They were a little pissed (understandably) but I got the last laugh.  Their baby was a sleeping infant.  Your time will come, my chopstick-poked friends. 

The bats have to be better than this, right? 

We walked back over and climbed down into the riverbed (sans river, for those not from a desert).  A woman started talking into a microphone but apparently the acoustics of riverbeds are not what one might hope for so we couldn't understand most of what she was saying.  Except the part about how we needed to be quiet because the bats don't like noise and won't come out.  She said.  Into a microphone.  A hundred feet from the bats. 

Performance Art One was involved a poet doing a reading while a local group, Flam Chen, did some cool stuff on stilts.  We think it was cool, at least.  Riverbeds also not so great for performance art.  We couldn't see much and they people on stilts freaked Max right out of his skull, so most of the performance was spent with Max sulking, sitting on my lap, looking down, and dumping sand into my shoes.  I busied myself by alternating between getting irritated at Max for the sand and trying to make sure I knew the fastest way to get out of the riverbed since it was getting ready to storm. 

This evening notwithstanding, I would recommend Flam Chen should you be in the area.  We've seen them at some other events and always enjoy them.  And I'm not even getting paid to say that.

Performance Art Two I'm not so sure about.  I thought it was supposed to be another poem but it seemed to be mostly some guy screaming into the microphone about water tables and population density and destruction.  I mostly just felt sort of yelled at.  Anyway, he took us through the entire history of water levels in the area.  Year by year. 

We were somewhere in the 1970s when it happened.  The bats, probably figuring it was easier just to get themselves going rather than be the next to be blamed for water shortages, left.  They came out from under the bridge in search of their evening meal.  And I'm sure the fact that some guy was shouting into a microphone on our side of the bridge had nothing to do with the fact that all of the bats took off in the other direction.  A lot of black blobs flying away from us, as the man testily said, "I guess the bats are leaving now.  WE WILL CONTINUE THIS LATER." 

I have no doubt the water table guy was holding the bats completely responsible for ruining his night.

Anyway, once someone took the microphone away from him a few bats came our way.  Max insisted he didn't see them and I don't think Julia cared and Family Time was just about over for all of us.  We made our way out of the riverbed and into the parking lot just as Water Table Guy started back up.  And I watched the poor people heading out there, thinking they were going to see the bats, when, no, they were just going to be blamed for Tucson's ills.  But I'm sure they were grateful for our parking spot. 

In the end, in addition to learning the important restaurant lessons noted above, we also realized that next year we'll pack a picnic and take the kids to see the bats on a non-Bat Night night.  No stilts.  No reverberations.  No water levels.  Just us, some food, and the bats.  Who will hopefully fly our way.

Lessons Learned

1. Boulder and Michelle know everything.  Between the two of them all of my Facebook problems are solved.  If you missed their advice, I took all of the playgroup people and collected them into a list (I did not name them 'playgroup unfriends' per Boulder's suggestion, but I laughed mightily at the thought).  I then blocked all of them from seeing my status updates.  I'll still be on their lists, though, so it will look like I'm just not using Facebook anymore which saves me from any potentially uncomfortable discussions.  Per Michelle's suggestion, I tracked down an update from each of them and clicked on 'hide' so that I can't see their updates.  PURE BRILLIANCE.  I can be bitchy (seriously, these women don't swear...WHY did I think we could get along?) and they can't see.  I don't have to see their discussions of the parties and fun times, etc. to which we were not invited and everyone wins.  But I win more. 

2. I've thought a lot about the previous comments about playgroup and its purpose and its place in my life...blahblahblah.  Here's what I've concluded.  Max needs to be around other kids.  But most of the kids in playgroup are Julia's age or younger.  Max gets time with his peers at school and THANK ALL THAT IS HOLY a little boy Max's age moved into a house across the street and you can bet that we are doing everything in our power to foster that relationship.  Including inviting the whole family plus an extra visitor to our annual house party and plying them with alcohol.  We will feed you and get you drunk...make your son play with ours. 

Off topic.

The point being that when I thought about it, Max really isn't getting that much socialization out of these playdates.  And Julia could socialize with a mirror.  Or a cat.  So the main point of playgroup, at this point, would be to my benefit. 

My idea of downtime?  Taking a book to a restaurant or bookstore and just getting to read by myself, without interruptions (a fact which led to a rather hilarious conversation with a woman from the jury office, who kept telling me to to ask for dismissal from duty while I kept screeching, "You don't understand!  I'll do jury duty, but just in January!  Please, can't you make it happen in January???"  No, they couldn't, so my day with a book was lost to me).  Anyway, if I'm not getting any enjoyment out of it, what the hell IS the point?

3. Really great comment about what the kids will remember.  There are a ton of fun things I can do with them that I enjoy and that they will enjoy.  I know Max will remember them.  I want him to remember that I was relaxed and fun and focused on them and the time we were spending together.  It floors me that I am so serious about them understanding that I am there for them that I will not use the iPod or have the cell phone on when we're out together, but it never occurred to me that the point is that ALL of us are having fun.  Together.  Thank you, Annie. 

I'll take advantage of some of the playgroup things available for the rest of the year.  I will not renew my membership, and I will unfriend playgroup people at that time.  I'm sorry to lose a few of them, but I do feel it's an all or nothing scenario for Facebook.

I trust my gut and my gut is telling me that all of this is the right path.  Max has three days off school next week and we've started planning how we're going to spend them, together, having fun. 

I thank you.