Tongue twister

Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

What is it?




I'm so glad you asked:-



A fossilized, flat, four footed, platypus skeleton. Don't try saying that in a hurry. It would appear that the tactile defensive amongst us have mastered tape.

Cooking lessons with Chicken Little

Clearly it’s an exaggeration, but it’s the nearest I can get to convey the abject panic in the kitchen. Kitchen’s are fraught with dangers for the unwary and the ever so slightly paranoid. The motivation is clear and present, the desire to create something yummy but the overwhelming amount of angst that swirls around the kitchen soon have us both heading up the vortex.

This is primarily due to my own ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and feed the OCD beast within.

Throughout this exercise there is the underlying ghost of tactile defensiveness, the abhorrence of dirty hands. I think there may well be a smidge of this phenomenon in many of us. It’s the reaction we feel when the unexpected happens. We stroll along on our own sweet way, when out of nowhere we find something deeply offensive on our skin. The sensation is so vile that it shocks the conscience, enough to see your own hand in 3-D, ten times it’s normal size, pulsating and alien. It’s the same as being in a concrete car park with no leaf to act as a wipe, no grass to scrape it off, where your only option is to sacrifice your top or your trousers and remain half clad. It’s the preferable option. Slightly preferable to the temptation to chop off the appendage and run away because you forgot to pack your machete. Or at least that’s my interpretation of what I witness daily.

***

The oven farts as the temperature rises, “what is dat sound is being?”
“Oh it’s just the stove coming up to 325. It sounds like it’s about to explode but it won’t.”
“Itz gonna explode? Agh!”
“No, no , no, it’s just a figure of speech. Lets go and crack the eggs, your favourite bit. Stand on the step but don’t wobble or fall off.”
“I am fall off and be hurted myself?”
“No, no, no. Here, concentrate on the eggs. Crack them on the post in the middle of the Cuisinart as it’s less messy but be careful you don’t cut yourself on the blade.”
“I am gonna cut my fingers off?”
“No, no, no. Here lets grease the pan shall we?”
“Grease is dah disgustin. I don wan dah disgustin on my bread!”
It may be only 72 degrees in my Californian kitchen but the beads of stress make it feel like a tinder box. At each and every step we meet with the unexpected or rather the ‘not thoroughly researched and prepared in advance.’ His progress in the art of chefdom is hampered greatly but the adult sized disposable gloves that hang like condoms from each finger. I am now deeply uncertain if this compromise really is an improvement on the alternative two minute hand washing ritual?
As we spoon the mixture into the pan the whole kitchen looks like a war zone but his excitement is palpable. He smacks his lips with exaggerated anticipation and an air of mischief as a centimeter of tongue protrudes.
“You’re not supposed to lick the spoons with the raw cake mixture these days or you might get Salmonella poisoning.” I look at his little furrowed brow. A child who has only eaten real food for about 6 months of his little life, and maybe a baker’s dozen of eggs. Do I really want to wipe out his digestive system with raw eggs?
“I am gonna be poison?”
His eyes are on stalks having navigated the total nightmare of his mother’s death trap clangers. “Tell you what?”
“What?”
“Let’s lick the spoon and see if you get ill?” He looks at the smeared spoon just beneath his nostrils with the captivating combination of cinnamon, vanilla and sugar as fortunately zuchinni appear to have been overwhelmed by the other ingredients. “Do you think it’s worth the risk?” I watch as he squirms and racks his taut and tangled insides, both brain and body. “The hospital’s only a hop, skip and a jump away if anything goes wrong……” After much dog panting, eye squeezing and hand wringing he pounces, envelops the spoon with his mouth as little shivers, fire cracker through his elastic spine. I count, silently, although I’m not quite sure what I’m expecting. “Dat is dah greatest Chef’s triumph….even better dan Elephant Ears.”
“That good indeed!”
“Yes my chocolate chip zucchini bread is being manners from heaven!”

It’s cake actually, but that’s Americans for you.

Someone might be wondering where the other two were during this 30 minute marathon? That’s right! Electronics time was sacrificed in favour of cookery, although to be fair that probably added quite considerably to his angst.

My angst? Well I left out the fact that during this same period, with a cacophony of ‘electronic’s time’ musak, Mr. B was very kindly washing up in our very narrow galley kitchen. Mr. B, a Portuguese speaking Brazilian, had numerous questions regarding the English present tense imperfect. Thatcher had two accidents which needed attention, as puppy training can never be neglected. My daughter arrived home from work, hungry and determined to make cheese rolls in the very same kitchen. All conversational exchanges were fraught due to her waterlogged ears, a mild improvement upon water on the brain. It’s a miracle we all survived. And if that was you who kept phoning and leaving messages, then forgive me as I had the volume turned off.

p.s. I wrote that a week ago. I just thought you might be interested to know that he can now cook without using up a whole box of disposable gloves. I hope Mother Earth takes pity on environmental whores like me?

Here’s a "link" to the recipe we used for "Zucchini Bread" or rather Courgette Cake. We added a cup[ish] of chopped up mangled Walnuts and half a cup of chocolate chips. It’s very, very sweet.

How to make a chef's hat

Now surely this is something that everyone needs in their life, regardless of whether you're a gourmand or a cheez whiz kind of a cook. It's really a question of look the part and step into the role.

All you need is some stiff card, seleotape, scissors, measuring tape and five minutes.

Measure the diameter of the head that you wish to adorn and mark that length plus an inch onto the card. Try and find a large piece of old card to re-use rather than recycle.




Cut through the card to a two inch border that will form the head band.




Clip and then tape the headband to overlap one inch.




Reach through the inside and tape the lengths together to form a dome.



Done.



Go on, indulge your child's latest whim. Now that's what I call "positive reinforcement." When I think of how I had the nerve to ask the staff at Flames for one of their "disposable chef's hats," I can feel a blush! What can I say? Pushy Brits. Now that's something I'd never have been brave enough to do a few years ago. There again the real bravery award goes to someone willing to put something on his head!






Don't forget to check out other participants.

On a side note, if you are struggling to pay for therapy for your special needs child, if the insurance has dried up and tossed you to one side, if you ever think for one moment that the whole thing is completely hopeless, takes forever and wonder if you really are doing the right thing.......I'm here to tell you, or rather ask you, to remain hopeful.

Magic Marker Monday

Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

Yes that's sandpaper!
an 8 year milestone

Puppy Training:- a brief summary

Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

I attend the primer.

A two hour lecture.

I did try very hard not to yawn.

• Consistency
• Persistence
• Always follow through
• Think like a dog
• Use logic
• Dogs have common dogginess principles
• Each dog has it’s own unique personality and character
• Keep language concise
• Use body language
• Use simple signs
• Generalize skills in different locations
• Reward with treats initially
• Don’t forget to fade rewards
• Pick your battles
• Schedules, routines and predictability
• Never punish natural doggy behaviour such as chewing, digging and barking
• Provide safe opportunities to chew, dig and bark
• Tone of voice
• Facial expression
• Repetition

On and on and on it goes……..

And do you know what? I can do all this standing on my head, whilst knitting and drinking Ensure. I tell you truly that if I had known it would be this easy, I would have found a dog years ago. Then again, years ago, I didn’t know, what I know now. Do I mean to imply that Autistic children learn similarly to dogs? No. I imply no such thing. On the contrary, children, both autistic and typical, need good teachers. It is easy to scoff, especially since I am so exceptionally good at scoffing:- why doesn’t everyone already know all this stuff? But we all have to start somewhere. This provides me with the perfect opportunity to thank those professional and vocational professionals who work tirelessly for my children, to help them reach their full potential. If I cannot learn to be a good teacher, then children are probably not a good career choice for me. Luckily, despite all the odds against me, it seems that old dogs like me really can learn new tricks. Other young pups master nauseous chalk when they have just the right motivation.

Woof!






Don't forget to keep your eyes and ideas open to "Jessica."

Thursday 13 - 174 edition

Thirteen Things about Holiday gift disguise Take a look at the picture of the gift and guess what's inside? 1. 2. Homemade kiddie picture frame. Did you guess right? 3. What about this one? 4. It's a mini book. 5. 6. A golf ball. 7. 8. M & M's stuck on an old CD. 9. 10. 11. 12. CD 13. So what's the point? In these frugal times the gifts may be small or homemade but it can all be made a little more fun and festive without breaking the bank. Also thwarts those who shake and squeeze every package, as there's nothing like a little confusion to bring about a real surprise. Of course it's also one of the best way to open a gift without having to tackle the wrapping paper, an easy access and unflappable solution.

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Wordless - Special Exposure Wednesday

Yes we 'practice' hats for a few weeks and it's almost generalized.

If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.

How Long? Wordless Special Exposure Wednesday

How long? Wordless Wednesday

How long does it take the average 8 year old to open four birthday presents do you suppose? I suspect that a thoughtful careful interested child may take some while to open and examine each one. I more impulsive child may rip them all open in seconds. I’m sure there are infinite variations on a theme to suit each little individual.

Around here, we set a new record, all over and done with within a half hour. The gifts were less than perfect but that turned out to be o.k. His presents were wrapped in paper which proved a challenge for the tactile defensive digits which are always super sensitive first thing in the morning. With lots of help, kitchen scissors in someone else’s hands, he managed to achieve unwrapped. Not so long back, his brother and sister had to help. He would stand at a safe three foot distance, within view but with ears protected from the outrageous ripping sounds.

I appreciate the credibility gap here. Can it be true that a child would refuse to open a present? Indeed it can and I have proof, since I am prone to exaggeration. Each and every year parcels would arrive from abroad from relatives. Each one had a little customs label to describe the contents:- plastic dinosaur, child’s toy, Thomas the Tank engine. How I loved those labels, they were my salvation. When the telephone calls came to check whether the gift had arrived, whether it was appreciated I was able to lie through my teeth, ‘yes it was perfect, how thoughtful, how delightful, so much fun.’ Meanwhile the package would remain unopened for days, weeks or a month after the event. I would cart those packages all over the house to where he sat, where he ate, on his bed, as a constant reminder and temptation. After a few weeks I would cut open the top so that he could see the wrapped present inside but nothing would induce him to insert a hand into the lion’s jaws. Even the taunt of Thomas, that most beloved, would fail to motivate contact with paper.

Sometimes a change of approach becomes inevitable. It takes time. It takes patience. It takes growth. But surely that’s just one of the many reasons why we celebrate that date, the birthday, the day that something new was born.







If you enjoy caption competitions and photographs, you may wish to nip along to"DJ Kirkby" over at "Chez Aspie" and test your brain power.

Try Tackling it Tuesday – kitchen angel

First and foremost I would like to point out that my idea of a kitchen angel is someone who visits the house, creates a delicious meal, does all the washing up and then disappears. If they would happen to include baby sitting services so that I am at least in with a fighting chance of eating a morsel, then that’s all to the good. This cheerful craft by comparison, comes in at a very poor second.

Let me just say at the outset, that when I was first given one of these creations as a gift, I was severely miffed, or rather, less than thrilled. Whilst I try not to look a gift horse in the mouth, at the same time, kitchen equipment never rates highly on my list of desirable. Strangely, these items are quite common in America, however I doubt whether they exist in Europe, except perhaps in the kitsch aisle. They would fall into the same category as "these."

Unlikely as it may seem, the foreigner who gave this to me, was unaware that it was made with tea towels, an oven glove and a face cloth. He was under the mis-apprehension that it was a traditional dollop of Americana, a Christmas decoration for the kitchen, but that’s just husband’s for you.

I have to admit I was tempted. How handy to have an emergency supply of such essentials for those days when the laundry is backed up and kitchen chaos reigns supreme. How fun to give my new American friends some traditional American gifts? How much better to demonstrate my assimilation into American culture?


I made half a dozen for my closest friends that they too would have an ally for their next domestic disaster. Would it surprise you to learn that my closest American pal packs up her kitchen angel with the rest of her Christmas decorations so that she can bring it out the next year? I suppose I should be grateful that she doesn’t keep it in the kitchen. I’m thinking of reporting her to the Bureau of Un-American Activities as her maverick behaviour proves that she’s really an alien.

However, I warmed to the idea of the kitchen angel because it indirectly provoked another gift, a little gem of an idea that has served me well for quite a few years. I noticed that my youngest son was quite partial to one red pot holder in particular. It has a fleecy red lining, soft and smooth. During my creative drive I would keep finding that this one pot holder kept disappearing. My son stole it to use as a hand protector and warming glove. At that time, he was still averse to the texture of paper.

One of the many difficulties that such people experience is an inability to open a paper wrapped gift, precisely because it is wrapped in paper which might as well be razor wire. Now I’ll admit that he wasn’t keen on presents either and was usually indifferent to the contents but that was nothing by comparison to the nightmare of tackling that paper barrier.

I can tell that you’re a little doubtful, but I have proof. I think we are one of the few families I know,who still have a nearly full stocking five days into the New Year. Why? Because the gifts are wrapped in paper, that most hateful of substances ever created by modern or ancient man. Now I have yet to check out whether ancient man’s papyrus or parchment paper has superior texture to our super smooth modern equivalent, but I’m open to ideas.

Meanwhile, the kitchen angel provoked another idea. Why not wrap all his presents in tea towels, preferably, old ratty soft tea towels only suitable for the rag bag? So that’s exactly what I did, with miraculous results. Of course all the gifts were still inferior but at least we didn’t have to wait until the New Year to make that discovery. So I would have to say, that when it comes to kitchen angels, maybe they do deserve a little soft cherished spot, in my psyche at least.


Since as there is no point in re-inventing the wheel, you can find sterling instructions for this project over "here," at "my craft book."

The only thing I would change is the note that's attached to her neck, which reads as follows:-

I am your Kitchen Angel
I'll watch over all you do,
Baking all those goodies,
And snitching one or two!

And if you ever tire of me,
Or some help is what your wish is,
Just untie my little ribbons,
And I'll help you with the dishes!

Instead, my note would read:-

The real kitchen angel is fully booked until 2059,
here's the sub.

Magic Marker Best Shot Monday

Hosted by "Tracy" at "Mother May I," but the photo-picture below will whizz you right there with one click.

Just call me snap happy.

Around this time of year, we make one of those ‘thanksgiving trees.’ For those unfamiliar with this American tradition, the children are given a tree with half a dozen leaves. They write on the leaves explaining what things, if any, they are thankful for. This simple, yet frightfully jolly good idea, appealed to my psyche. The reality however, was far from successful. One of my children had an aversion to the texture of paper. Both of them believed that all writing implements were tools of torture. I overcame the former objection by using foamies. The later was overcome but submitting myself to the role of scribe. All I needed then was to extricate suggestions. Most of the suggestions fell into the general category of ‘nuffink.’ When really pushed, or rather persuaded, they might manage ‘Thomas’ or Pachycephalosaurids, dependent upon which developmental stage they were at, by otherwise, it was an uphill struggle. I usually gave up after approximately seven minutes.

Every year they have managed more leaves. This year we made paper ones. This year they both wrote on the paper leaves themselves. We were still done in 7 minutes flat, but now they can tolerate 420 seconds of tedium. As I recap the glue I notice that my son has written an abbreviation on his leaf, an unfamiliar one.
“What does T P stand for dear?”
“Toilet paper.”
“You’re thankful for toilet paper? But you only use flushable wipes, very expensive flushable wipes I might add!”
“Yes.”
“So……why then?”
“It’s a joke stoopid!”
“!”
Ooo the irony.

Daily Daub - Tactile Defensiveness