Vista is a constant source of hilarity in our lives (when she’s not acting like demon hell spawn, of course).

We had a good laugh the other night after Bil introduced her to an iPad game that has a cat that you can interact with.  The best part is, it picks up your voice on the microphone, runs it through a filter, and then plays back whatever you say in this squeeky cat voice.  So to a 3yr old it’s like the cat is talking to you, which V was immediately fascinated with.

Until… she said my name.  Which of course the cat repeated.  And then the argument started.  But basically, she was arguing with herself, because all this stupid cat is doing is repeating what she says.  And, OMG, we just about died laughing.

Really, there’s no better way to explain this than to show you

I accept sometimes that means eating crow.  So be it.  I still own it.  I’ll apologize if I feel I was wrong.  I’ll clarify things if the situation warrants it.

But please don’t assume you know what I said when you hear it from a third, forth, or fifth party.

If you have an issue with something you *think* I said, then grow a pair and ask me.  If I said it, I’ll own it.  If you need an explanation, I’m usually more than willing to explain the why’s behind it.

And please don’t assume you know exactly how I think based on one supposed 140 characters exchange.  Sometimes words are just words.  There’s not some profound underlying meaning to them.

The fact is, I’m not that fucking deep.

I have neither the time, inclination, or energy to bother to be.

It’s not that I’m shallow.  It’s not that I’m heartless.  It’s not that I’m intentionally cruel or evil.

I say what I mean.

I mean what I say.

I’m a pretty simple person.

And if you think I’m a complete bitch online?  You should meet me in person.

“Never utter these words: ‘I do not know this, therefore it is false.’
One must study to know; know to understand; understand to judge.”
~ Apothegm of Narada

V: “Uhhhhh…..Fishy crackers!”

Image via Wikipedia

Me: “Hrmmm, yeah, no.  That’s not a breakfast food.  How about some Multi-grain Cheerios instead?”

V: “OK muddy-gain-chee-yos.”

Me: “No.  Mul-tee-gr-… Oh never mind…”

*hands her a bowl of Cheerios*

V: “Mmmmmm….deeeeelicious!  Fresh from the garden!”

Me: “Ummmmm…. *sigh* … Yup mommy picked them special for you”

+++++++++++++++++++++

There are some explanations I can’t get into with her before my morning cup of coffee.  The fact that ‘chee-yos’ don’t grow on trees would be one of those.

We longed for a REAL dog. You know. Something big. Something we could play with. Not something that would hide under the couch during a thunder storm.

When our terrier-crossed-with-god-knows-what died, we begged and pleaded to our parents.

“Please, please please, can we get a real dog now??”

A German Shepherd. A Border Collie. Anything that couldn’t be used as a dust mop if you suck a stick up it’s ass.

Then the day came when dad announced he was going to get us a new dog from the pound. A. Real. Dog.

OMG. We were over the moon. Finally!!

We sat by the door waiting and waiting (none to patiently) for him to come home with our new REAL dog.

Dad finally came in and we crowded around him to see what he had brought home.

*silence*

“What the hell is that thing?!”

There in my dad’s hand (it literally fit into his palm) was a shivering rat. Except that’s an insult to rats.

My dad had brought home a chihuahua crossed with a wire hair terrier. What little hair she had stuck up everywhere. She was ugly. And? Dad had a really funny idea of what a real dog was.

We contented ourselves with giving her mohawks and dressing her in my doll clothes, while still waiting for the day we would get a REAL dog.

It was a long wait.

I was in my late 20′s before I finally decided to get a dog of my own.

There was no doubt about what I was going to get.

It was going to be BIG.

Something no one could question was a dog.

And no one can question the fact that my big black hell hound, Spyro, is all dog.

He’s big, he’s loud, he looks like a wolf.

When he smiles at you, he’s all teeth.

I’ve had guys wearing gang colors cross to the other side of the street when I’ve been out walking him in the city (which might have made me laugh out loud).

When he was younger, my brother walked into my house without knocking.  I was upstairs with the dog.  Spyro heard the door and went flying down the stairs and launched himself, half way down, aiming for my brother’s jugular.  Luckily my brother had the presence of mind to say “Hey, Spyro, it’s just me!”.  As soon as Spyro recognized my brother’s voice, he spun, mid leap, to land at my brother’s feet.  Needless to say, my brother knocks before coming in now.

As I laid down in bed last night, Spyro curled up on the floor next to my side of the bed.  I realized that just his presence made me feel safer.

It’s not that he’s some big, bad, attack dog.  But, rather, the fact he looks like he is.  And the fact he can be if he really, really needs to be.

In this case, I’m OK if people judge a book by it’s cover.

Just as long as they don’t see him with his teddy bear.

Our latest discovery is the fact that consequence or cause and effect part of her brain doesn’t work. It’s just not there. She has absolutely no grasp of one thing affecting another. You cannot use ‘if/then’ statements with her.

Think about how much of our parenting is based on consequence reaction.

‘Stop hitting your brother OR you’ll get a time out’
‘Eat one more bite of dinner THEN you’ll get desert’

or our personal favorite

‘If you take your meds like a big girl, THEN you get *insert anything here*’

Vista’s comprehends none of it.

And we’re not sure if that’s just the way it’s going to be or if it’s something we’ll be able to teach her.

Right now, we suspect that may just be the way it is.

So dear internet people, I, once again, need your help.

How do you discipline a child who doesn’t understand consequences?
How do you cajole a child into doing what you need them to do when they don’t understand ‘action/reward’?

Help. I needz it.

==============================

For many years I have put the needs of others over my own. I am breaking free of that pattern and finally discovering what it feels like to show my true self to the world.
~Dre

WANT/NEED

I would rather be wanted, than needed.
Neediness reeks of desperation, loss of control, weakness.
That is not what I want to see in your eyes when you look at me.
Don’t need me.
Your need is the suffocating heat weighing heavily on my chest in the middle of a barren desert.
Your need is a small and dark place that leaves me scrambling…
     for the open sky,
          for a cool breeze in my hair,
               for pavement passing swiftly beneath my feet.
Don’t imprison me with your need… hands grasping, voice begging.
Don’t need me.
Want me.
Want me for who I am…
Not what I am to you.
Not for what you think you need me to be.
Let me walk away…
     and revel in the joy you feel when I return.

It’s rare to hear a parent of a special needs child refer to themselves as an expert in anything.

We quickly learn that what works for ‘most kids’, rarely, if ever, works for ours.

And so we’re left slogging through trying to come up with something, anything that will work.

Because what works today, probably isn’t going to work tomorrow, or an hour from now.

I can’t even begin to communicate the level of frustration that brings.

And yet for the solutions we do find that we manage to make work we are look down on and called out by parenting experts and even other parents.

YES MY CHILD WEARS A BACKPACK LEASH SOMETIMES WHEN WE GO OUT.

According to one of the parenting experts on twitter, this means I’m treating my child like an animal.

*insert tears of frustration here*

Never mind the fact that Vista actually LIKES to wear her backpack.  She often brings it to me and asks to wear it around the house.

Never mind the fact it’s an easy, no fight, solution to walking around busy places with lots of people.

It was suggested I use a ring-sling as a harness.  That would be great for 5, 10, maybe even 15 minutes.  But for a 1 or 2 hour walk with a 45lb Amazon 3yr old? With a child who often can’t bare to hold hands because of the feel of it? A child to whom a gentle guiding hand could cause a complete meltdown because I touched her?  A child who will wonder off and not even consider where mom and dad are?  A child who would walk off with a stranger without a second thought?  Uhhh….yeah….

But I’m treating her like an animal because I put her backpack leash on her.

Well parenting experts, you come spend a day with me.

You go through the 2 – 3 hour battle of the meds in the morning.  These meds are not optional.  She must have them.  Not taking them could result in seizures that could kill her.

You take a child with sensory issues, epilepsy, and other brain issues, for a lovely walk in a crowded place with just a ring sling.  Don’t forget the behind-the-head headphones to help her block out the sounds.  And a package of wipes just in case she accidentally touches something and starts screaming about her fingers being dirty.

Then come home and start battle #2 of the meds.

Now it’s time to fix dinner.  Don’t forget the bowl you serve it in cannot be warm or it’s considered hot and no food will be eaten.

Oh, no, you don’t get to eat dinner too.  No, this is where you sit and help the child with their spoon or fork, because at 3 years old they still aren’t able to manage it.

Now it’s time for battle #3 of the meds.

Tired yet?

Oh well, you still have to give the kid a bath and put her to bed.   Don’t forget that no water can get anywhere near the face or it’ll be an epic meltdown.  Oh, and brushing her teeth will require a specific tooth brush (her choice, it changes daily.  But don’t use the wrong one or…yeah, epic melt down).  Oh, and if you pick the wrong toothpaste?  Then you’ve just extended bedtime by half an hour while you calm her down.

Yeah, good luck with that.

If you make it through the day without ending up in tears yourself, then maybe I’ll consider your advice.

But only maybe.

When it comes to talking about sex, and being sex positive, she is frank, unabashed, and unashamed. It’s utterly fascinating to watch her speak with other women.

At the same time it’s interesting to watch these women go from squeamish and squirming about the topic, to grilling her about correct use of sex toys, all while standing in the middle of the conference floor.

What I tried to figure out is, what is it about ToyWithMe that allows people to feel safe enough that they can open up and have that sex positive dialogue with her?

Then I realized, a better question is – why isn’t there more of that going on?

Most of the people I chat with on my blog and twitter, are mothers. Most of my friends in real life have kids. Generally, having kids = having sex at some point in time.

And yet this continues to be a taboo topic, quietly whispered about in corners. And some women are afraid to even opening the conversation for fear of being labeled ‘over-sharers’.

We’re all adults here, right? (and if you’re not over 18, you shouldn’t be reading my blog, so stop it right now).

Why is sex such a difficult topic for us? Why are we so embarrassed to discuss it?

Maybe it’s just that my filter is broken. I have no problem discussing sex.

Perhaps it’s that I’m comfortable with who I am.  I also have no problem with another women changing in front of me. It doesn’t make me any more uncomfortable than it would having my husband change in front of me. They’re a person, they have a body. Yay. I mean, really? What’s to be uncomfortable about? We all have the same parts, right? It’s not like i don’t know what they look like.

I can remember being embarrassed as a kid in the change room of the local swimming pool. I mean, OMG, what if someone SAW me!  *dies*

I have no idea when I finally got over that. But I did. It’s just a non-issue now.

But that brings me to Vista and how she’ll view herself growing up.

One of my ultimate challenges in life is going to be figuring out how to raise my daughter as sex positive, while stripping the hypersexualization that media encourages in young girls.

Yes, those are two VERY different things.

I want her to embrace who she is as a female and be proud of what she looks like. I want her to view sex as a normal, healthy thing (between CONSENTING ADULTS).  I want her to be free to express her sexuality and ask questions.  And I want her to know she can do all of that without dressing, looking, and acting, like a two-bit tramp.

I think it’s time we start educating our girls (and other women!) to be empowered, rather than embarrassed.

Image via Wikipedia

Sunday night, Nic, Dre, and I were sitting downstairs having a few drinks at hotel bar while we caught up on life, kids, and the like.

We asked our waiter, Patrick, for another round and he brought out Nic and Dre’s glasses of wine.  He apologized to Nic; they had run out of the Pinot Grigio she had been drinking so he substituted a different one for her.

She took a sip. “This is a chardonnay.”

Patrick looked confused. “No, it’s a pinot grigio.”

Nic took another sip. “Nope. Definitely a Chardonnay.” She handed the glass to Dre for her opinion. “Definitely a Chardonnay” agreed Dre.

He paused. “I’ll be right back,” Patrick said, disappearing behind the bar.

A minute later he came back with another glass and a bottle of wine. “You were absolutely right. It was a chardonnay. I am SO sorry for the mistake.”

We all had a great laugh and high-fived Nic on her stellar wine tasting abilities.

Patrick poured her a fresh glass out of the bottle of pinot grigio. There was about a quarter bottle left. He put it on the table. “I’ll just leave that there for you,” he said with a smile.

This was a simple mix up. Not a big deal in any way. But the recovery from the mistake? Amazing. Two days and and a few drinks later, I still remember our waiter’s name. We even tweeted the Hilton telling them that Patrick needed a raise (and he really does). That quarter bottle of wine probably cost them $5. Good publicity? Priceless.

This is the area where a lot of companies in the customer service industry fall flat.

Issues happen. They do. Nothing ever runs smoothly all the time.

But it’s how you recover that will make or break your reputation these days of social media.

Take for example my flight to get home from NYC on American Airlines.

All I wanted all day was just to get home so I could cuddle Vista, and smother her in kisses, and tell her how much I missed her. I’d been away from her for a whole week. That’s about 6 days too long for me.

It was going to be a late night (my flight wasn’t due to arrive until after 9pm), but Bil and Vista were going to make the drive into the city to pick me up. I couldn’t wait to see her. I breezed through my flight from Newark to Dallas. And then the day started going downhill.

First one gate change. Then another… …and another… The depart time on the flight kept getting later. 6pm…. 6:40, 7:00, 7:10, 7:50, and on and on.

With each time bump I got more and more upset.

I. Just. Wanted. To. Go. Home.

I was tired. I missed my daughter. I missed my husband.

By the time the depart hit 8:30pm, I did the math. By the time the plane lands + get my luggage + make it through customs, carry the one…. and…. it was going to be to late to bring Vista into town to pick me up. And no way I could afford the hour and a half cab ride to our town, IF I could even find a cab to take me. I was heartbroken. I sat in the airport wiping away tears of frustration.

I. Just. Wanted. To. Go. Home.

Resigned, I called my parents, and asked if I could stay at their house in the city until Bil could get in to pick me up in the morning.

Another gate change.

A change in terminals.

Another delay.

The flight got later and later.

And through all this there was no communication around WHY our flight was so delayed.

Finally at 9pm, we got on a plane. And sat there. We all looked around the plane. We’re we EVER going to get home?

The plane did, eventually, take off. By the time we got in, it was almost midnight.  I had left the hotel at 9:30am.

And what did American Airlines do to make up the huge delay and hours of treking around the Dallas airport?

Nothing.

Not One Thing.

Not the offer of a complementary beverage. Not even a cookie.

Not only that, but they didn’t even bring enough customs declaration forms on board. Not even enough for half the plane.

Don’t you think during the HOURS of delays they might have been able to get that one thing together?? Yeah, you would think. But no.

As we say on twitter. #EPICFAIL

How much does a cookie cost? Weigh that against all the tweets that went around with their ID in it complaining about the flight delays, lack of explanations, and lack of recovery.

Service companies take note.  Social media rules these days.  Put your best foot forward and when things do go sideways make sure you have a recovery plan in place.

You should go read it.  I mean… would you really want your kid wearing this?

Photo by @posielove