The tale of the foolish old woman

Once upon a time, there lived a wise old woman in a little white Cape Cod house, deep in the depths of sunny San Jose. The frugal woman gathered together her gold coins from the hidden corners of house and set forth unto the deep discount store, there to buy a couch for her wee green room. There she searched in vane for just the right one, not too big, not too small and not too expensive. Woe be upon her, as she left empty handed with nought to put beneath her bottom.

The wise old woman shared her little white Cape Cod house with wee little, Italian man, fond of cream and garlic, and partial to padding beneath his bottom. When he heard the wise woman’s lament, he rallied to the cause and set off that very same day to fulfill the old wise woman’s dreams.

Many days passed until the venerable delivery van arrived at the little white Cape Cod house, where to reveal a hansom and jolly expensive couch. The old wise woman clapped her hands with glee when her eyes fell upon the illustrious couch. What a clever wee spendthrift Italian man he was.

Thereafter, during subsequent years, the old wise woman’s children trampled the couch quite thoroughly, wherefore to gain sufficient deep proprioceptive input, until it was no longer an illustrious couch, but a tatty old dung coloured heap.

The old wise woman pondered the meaning of life. After much thought and deliberations, the old wise woman decided that life was incomplete. Completeness came in the form of a large hound, with hair and whiskers and a wiggly, waggly tail. The old wise woman took her children aside and advised them verily, that henceforward the whiskery waggly dog must refrain from parking his hairy bottom on the not so illustrious couch. The aforementioned rule would be enforced ruthlessly.

Day after day, day after day, time passed, yah so slowly, yet permanently stuck of fast forward, as children and family learned to adopt the new rule.

All grew older and bigger, and some grew still wiser.

The old wise woman conceded her many foolishnesses of the past, but that in her next life time, which would surely arrive all too soonly, she would revise the laws of logic. First she would buy a dog, then she would buy a partner on the internet, on a sale and return basis with a 5% discount for cash and $6:95 crate free shipping and handling charge, then she would buy some children to avoid stretch marks and teach everyone to sit on the floor, just as they do in the rest world, in this very big planet that we share.

Moral:- there is very little wriggle room for the wise.

‘De Blob’ de best ever product review

‘De Blob' for Wii, is indeed a thrill for all of our family. The birthday gift has been thoroughly conquered in less than a month. Some of the taglines such as ‘dodge ink cannons, flatten INKT tanks and outsmart Inky soldiers’ may sound a little violent, but in reality they are as harmless as some common cartoons. Another tagline gives a broader flavour of the product:- ‘Paint the city and smash your way past Inky enemies to save the citizens.’ More than anything else, I am grateful for the wide range of musical accompaniments, many of which are much easier on the parental ear than some other electronic games.


"Professional" reviewers and "critics"
offer platforms where you can try it out for yourselves and get a feel for the product. However, the "repetitive" nature of game appears off-putting to the typical but not for the atypical, far from it:- au contraire, mon frère! The repetitions are a positive plus point, as this is the perfect way to practice without increasing levels of frustration, where mastery enhances self esteem.

Fortunately, none of the characters have any words, merely noises that mimic speech of some obscure or bygone language. Please note that it is not French to the best of my knowledge. The written sub-titles are an added bonus for those of us who are hyperlexic. For my boys at least, it has proved magnificently motivating. Additionally, the advancement of their hand–eye coordination and response time has improved immeasurably.

There is of course one drawback. This improvement in hand-eye coordination has resulted in each of the chair backs of the sofa being decorated with this emblem.



Sadly, my response time lags way behind those who are quick on the draw with those not so magic markers. I’d share a picture of my soggy sofa but I expect it’s all too easy to visualize.

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.

Notable Quotes of the week

"Were you two up all night giggling?"
"I dunno, I was asleep."

***

"Did you have a good day at school?"
"No."
"Oh dear..........why not?"
"We had a substitute creature."

***

Define ‘daughter’?
= a female son

Can't fault the logic my friend!

Wanton acts of violence

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This is what I found first thing yesterday morning at 5:10 a.m.





I really wanted to be angry as they were new for Christmas and it’s a bit nippy around here in the mornings.

I was secretly pleased as it’s a rare thing for anyone to voluntarily pick up a pair of scissors and use them as a tool purposefully.

I decided I would attempt a minor correction to this behaviour so that it doesn’t become a trend.





When I approached him he was so excited and chatterful that it was hard to get a word in edgeways, let alone an admonition.



Eventually after a great deal of gamboling he was able to show me how he had copied the illustration from his game:- Pokemon Ranger Kellen.




They could almost be twins! I did wonder why he was voluntarily dressed so early in the morning. I did wonder about the shorts in the middle of winter, to say nothing of the sleeveless shirt.

I'll stop now as I think my bias is showing.

Surprise! Written by Karen Andrews and Illustrated by Kim Fleming – a book review

This is a thoroughly delightful read but I can’t tell you what it is about, as that will give the game away.

Suffice to say that my own children are extremely picky about books. Although they can all read, their tastes run the gamut. As I stagger back with sacks full of books from the library each week, I can never guess which ones they will warm to and which will be kicked to the curb.

Here, the "illustrations" are in warm, muted colours with touching personal details for the sharp eyed. The pictures are sequenced in such a manner that non-readers may easily follow along. Inferences, which are always tricky in my household, are clarified by these sequential images.

I particularly like the name choices for the different characters and the variety of their respective home lives. The traditional nuclear family is such a rarity these days that hopefully more books will begin to reflect the diversity of modern reality, so that more children will see their own circumstances mirrored back in their everyday reading.

However, it seems daft for an adult to review a children’s book, so instead I offer you a junior opinion, or two:-
"U-Tube."

'Surprise!' is just my kind of book, a "pay it forward," kind of a book without the "soppy."

The author mentions that the book was 'inspired by a true story,' to which I would reply, 'capturing the minutiae of life, could prove inspirational to us all.'

You may buy a copy for yourself over here at "Miscpress."

I shall buy the book myself. When it arrives, it is destined for the library, together with an insert of our own. If you've read the book, then that won't be a Surprise! to you.

You can catch up with Karen on "Twitter" or on her blog called "Miscmum" and I'm sure she'd love to hear from you.

Please note that whilst I am more than happy to read just about anything, I only ever post positive reviews of books that I have genuinely enjoyed, as there are more than enough critical critics elsewhere.

Cheers dears

Autism – tip of the day [Head, shoulders, knees and toes]

Here is a quick tip that we still use with the children to help sequence them through those early morning steps in readiness for school.

Quite often, there are not many words available first thing in the morning but there are also a great many tasks that need to be performed in a timely manner. My boys are visual learners but also respond very well to kinesthetic cues, it’s almost as if that first movement kick starts their executive function into action. It’s another layer of scaffolding or support to help them achieve and experience success.

We have four hurdles to overcome:- brush hair, clean teeth, put on shoes and socks.

1. Gain your child’s attention, preferably with body orientation rather than eye contact.
2. Ask that they join in and copy your body movements.
3. Ask them to confirm that they’re going to play along, this need only be a nod or gesture to indicate willingness to participate
4. Exaggerate each gesture but keep the movements simple.
5. Say, ‘look at your body’:- self awareness is often a challenge. It is as if their bodies are separate entities from the self. Sometimes by actually looking at themselves, they will also notice something else amiss, such as back to front T-shirts or trousers. If not, this is an ideal time to draw their attention to the glitch.
6. Place both your hands on your head and say the word hair or head depending upon which word they are familiar with.
7. Then point to your mouth, smile and bare your teeth to say ‘teeth.’
8. Bend down and touch your feet to say ‘shoes’ or ‘shoes and socks.’
9. Repeat all the gestures but this time link the word to a number, 1,2,3 and 4.
10. Ask your child which one he wants to do first, 1,2,3 or 4, or hair/teeth/ shoes or socks. [or a,b,c and d for those alpha fans]
11. The element of choice to these ‘chores,’ gives control back to your child and may help encourage co-operation or at the very least, a willingness to have a go.
12. As they move off to start the first chore, be sure to praise verbally, or with a gesture such as a high five, or whatever physical confirmation they prefer. In our case, one cannot be touched and the other cannot be praised, but we all adapt to our own individual requirements.

Obviously this could be adapted to your particular morning hic-cups, the bits where they get stuck. Although we still use the PECs boards to help sequence, somehow the physical movements are yet another shortcut to smooth those transitions. This is a further step forward than a couple of years ago when they needed individual sequencing charts for each separate chore / task which were broken down into their own sequential steps. These can prove helpful with task completion. E.g. once they have brushed their teeth they move a tooth brush icon from one side of the chart [to do side] to the other side of the chart, [done side] These can be individually tailored to your child’s area of interest such as Pokemon, Thomas or dinosaur icons. Icons are particularly handy for those children who do not like to hold pencils to mark completion or have other fine motor issues.

I'm all for encouraging independence but some children need the scaffolding to remain in place for those difficult moments.

Lastly, a note to anyone struggling with the basics.

If you believe that such simple prompts are well out of your league, I can assure you that I would have felt similarly a few years ago. Back then, we too were struggling with the basics of dressing, toileting and feeding. If I had read a post similar to this, I would have thrown up my hands in horror. However, I wanted to share this to encourage and reassure, that all our children keep growing and changing in tiny huge ways.

We will all get there in the end.

This site “Do2Learn” may help, I hope.

How to ensure your carpet remain clutter free

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.

Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf?

We walk.

My son has a firm grip on the “Thatcher’s” leash when a very large mastiff wanders down his own lawn towards the path. I would swear that they flinched at the same moment, my son and Thatcher. My older son cries “OH EM GEE” in a tone of doom, from a few paces behind, as his little brother yells “WHOA!” Thatcher arcs through the air like a quicksilver boomerang, sprung from the three foot lead, ricochets off a tree at seven foot to land on the ground, supine. My son launches himself on his body. They lie on the damp cold ground like spoons in a foetal position. The house owner ambles towards us with unnecessary apologies to coax his good natured, elderly hound away. As Thatcher’s whimpers subside I hear, “iz o.k.” from my son, who lies on top of the dog, arms encircling his neck. He leans up on one elbow to check that all is clear. His floppy fingers attempt tentative patting of Thatcher's rough hair. The boys’ eyes are out on stalks as they check in and compare notes. “OH EM GEE!” he repeats.
“OH EM GEE………….our dog……..he is not being a Labradoodle…..….he iz dah flyin dog!”

What can I say?

Thatcher is a wimp of the first order.

A needle in a haystack – a game chip in the needles

More magic, than marker

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.

During the course of the holidays, my children discover how to parachute, or more accurately, test which toys can fly and those which cannot.

This is scientifically tested from the top of the stairs where the toys are hurled into the air, bounce off the ceiling and crash down on innocent victims below. It proves to be thoroughly hilarious entertainment for a good half hour. On conclusion of the half hour, they realize a serious flaw in the game plan, namely, the ten foot Christmas tree in the flight path. After a quick check, several items appear to be adrift, including a highly prized DS game, a one inch, thin, grey, plastic square. The meltdown that ensures is more or less inevitable. Whilst it would be perfectly possible to disassemble a 10 foot Christmas tree to hunt for the treasure, with my current responsibilities I am both unable and unwilling to compromise in this manner.

This more or less guarantees an hour of perseverating angst every day, first thing in the morning. The daily dose of angst almost persuades me to comply, but the time simply isn’t available. Arguably, an hour spent sequencing my son through the series of events that led up to this disaster would be better spent hunting through the needles, with hindsight, but I lack the energy.

Sadly, my efficiency levels are so low that we fail to take down the Christmas tree and other decorations on Twelfth Night. However, we are prompted into action with the dawning of the recycling visitation, which promises to arrive on Tuesday. With the children back at school on Monday, my elder daughter, Nonna and I take on the task in shifts. We each work independently in different parts of the house in an attempt to remove every trace prior to the end of the school day. Although the boys are generally oblivious to the décor, for some reason the strip down phase causes no end of grief and anxiety. Far better to remove all evidence in one fell swoop, the swift, slight of hand of magicians.

As I lift, roll and stash each decoration, my mind is free to reflect. Thatcher’s arrival has made several significant impacts upon my children. Thatcher is at the chewing stage of puppy-hood, which means that just about everything is fair game. It’s a daily game. Anything on the ground becomes fodder. Anything on the sofa or other surfaces above ground, is off limits. We have a mounting pile of evidence or our mistakes:- shoes, books and toys. None of these things are of value or worth protecting. A few prized items are worth the effort:- Webkinz, Pokemons and electronics paraphanalia. I foresee that before too long, the whole household itinerary will have been culled in this manner.

After lunch I haul out the tree into the roadway ready for collection, leaving a trail of green, prickly needles. The needle sweep up is also time consuming, several sack loads end up stacked next to the other debris and recycling materials. This leaves me just enough time to walk Thatcher before the school run.

Thatcher is keen to mark the dead tree. I am equally as keen that his offering should be elsewhere. Tree collection is hazardous enough an occupation without the added contributions of every household pet in the street. I distract and entertain as we lollop along the road with each house displaying still further green temptations.

As we reach the end of our circuit I see the huge recycling trucks approach the house. Thatcher is not keen on large noisy things. I hover, uncertain whether to continue his exposure or let him off the hook after 69 minutes of traffic? He cowers at my ankles, tail between his legs as we near the house. Suddenly, he makes a mad dash for the tree, his muzzle buried deep in the pines. I wonder if he has found a stray Christmas decoration, a choking hazard. On the command to drop, he does so without a qualm. There on the black rough tarmac is a small, thin, grey plastic square.

I wonder if plastic smells? I wonder if the plastic smells of my son?

I wait until completion of the school run, and the shock waves of despair at our denuded home to subside. I wait until the ebb tide, when spirits are low but even.
“Hey guys?” No-one has any interested in any more words, their daily allowance fully expended after a strenuous first day back at school.
“Guess what I found today?”
Floppy people display disinterest, their body language says it all.
“Guess what…..Thatcher found today?”
Bleary eyes blink with just the tiniest hint of something approximating interest.
“Look!” I hold up the tiny, grey, one inch square between thumb and forefinger with a white contrast wall behind. Gasps of genuine delight, amazement and joy chorus from every corner of the room.
“Did he really find it Mom? Where did he find it?”
“Fatcher found it?”
“Fatcher is being dah....………twuly……..... awesome one!”

Daily Constitutional[s]

We walk as a family, together with our dog, Thatcher. We meet and greet neighbours, old ones and new unfamiliar ones. People are friendly and make complimentary remarks about our puppy.

My children offer pertinent pieces of information in return:- that he has fur, even between his toes, that the end of his tail looks like a teasel, that his poop is bigger than cat poop because he is much bigger than most cats, that the tough pads on his feet mean that he doesn’t need to wear shoes, that he smells really bad, but not as bad as the first day he arrived.

Each little nugget of information is of equal worth.

People seem both amused and bemused in return.




By the time we dawdle back home, these cumulative exchanges appear to have percolated their psyche.

“Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“I like Fatcher.”
“Oh good. I’m glad you told me that dear.”
“Yes……......now we have a dog…….….people think we are more entertainment value.”
“?”

Not a friend in the world – shaggy dog tales

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I drop off my son and daughter to their respective play dates and then drive the little one home after school. The child is a picture of misery. One on one time with mum, is a poor consolation prize. Although I have planned a bumperful of entertainment for him, I know that I have a hard sell ahead of me.

Once inside he collapses like a damp squib on the sofa. Feelings of self worth, anxiety and depression are all closely related deamons. As he slips his fingers into his mouth I can tell that we’re on the edge of the precipice. I sidle up to him and park myself on the carpet so that we’re eye to eye. “I know!” I beam to a listless, glistening eyeball.
“How about we take Thatcher for a walk?” He is horror struck at the thought, rigid as a stick and speechless. More usually he would pogo at high speed in the same spot, fists clenched to his side, spittled with teeth breathing. It’s quite amusing to watch him behave the same way horizontally. “But……but…..but……. I cant be walk a dog.”
“Why?”
“Because……….” It’s an unfair question because we both could probably list several thousand reasons why this is a non starter.
“Let me help you with your shoes and jacket, it’s cold outside.” The reference to the temperature evokes a noise similar to a firecracker. It’s a like a feral cat in a sausage casing when you stick the tail in an outlet. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”
“Fun! Fun? What is dis ting called fun anyways?” It’s one of those things that he still says, although he doesn’t necessarily mean it. It’s more of a habit of protest. If in doubt, say no. It’s a trait common to many.

The transition of dog and child is smoother than I could have hoped. He holds the lead firmly and with a little encouragement has no difficulty ordering Thatcher around. His ambient level of shout, is a perfect match, authoritative, clear, one word commands. Thatcher is obedient when he understands. He appears to understand perfectly.

We make two circuits around the block.

Back inside the garage he pauses whilst I dry off Thatcher’s paws and muzzle. Unusually, he continues to pause, to wait a while instead of diving back into the house and safety.
“Mom!” he shouts.
“Yes dear?”
“He………….Fatcher……..…he is a good dog.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

Spit on your dog

Autism comes in many forms and affects everyone differently. One aspect is the volume of speech, if and when "speech" is available.

My younger son is loud when he speaks words and loud when he stims. The only time he is not loud is when echolalia takes over, in which case his volume matches what he has heard and repeats. Recently, he has learned the concept of whispering, the concept only, while he practices the practice. The effort involved is quite extraordinary and takes a great deal of heavy breathing and body contortions, but as yet, to very little effect.

My older son is generally inaudible, sotto voce. Sometimes he starts off well but the end of his sentence withers, until it peters out.

The arrival of our new pet makes for some very interesting developments. Everyone is keen to communicate with Thatcher, the dog, mainly by barking. This logic is lost on the dog. To date, Thatcher has not uttered a single note, barring the odd whimper, a dose of severe hic-cups and a squeal of surprise when he crossed paths with a cat.

Most of the commands for dog training are simple, sometimes with accompanying hand gestures. In principle, all of us should use the same words and gestures. Remarkably, everyone is willing to try, and try, and try again, many, many times without so much as a minor meltdown in the face of continued failure and frustration.

The squeaks, screams and squeals from my son frighten Thatcher. Suddenly my son begins to learn consequences for behaviour that has been unable to control. He doesn’t want to frighten Thatcher. He sees him cower and shiver. He now appreciates the causal affect. Previously he has been oblivious or possibly merely unmotivated.

Meanwhile the sainted Thatcher puts up with us, his new family. I suspect that some time soon the Humane Society will come to call. Since neither child is able to "pronounce" the digraph "th," Thatcher is the only dog in America to be repeatedly spat upon, as the boys struggle with uncooperative tongues. Fortunately, Thatcher is not similarly limited. His tongue just laps it all up.

Adverts for Autism - it’s a dog’s life

Echolalia is a common feature of autism. Quite often it can also be a stim, a self stimulatory behaviour. Some people find this very irritating. I am one of them. However, just as I begin to feel my ire rise, I remind myself of a few pertinent facts. [*]…………..

“And now a word from our sponsors,” he beams as he pirouettes across the carpet on tippy toes.
It’s a heavy burden indeed. Was that a Kansas accent?
“Only $19.99 plus shipping and handling!” he pipes as he careens from trampolene to sofa without missing a beat.
Whatever shall we do? That must be a New York accent.
“Call now while stocks last,” he chortles as he completes a perfect backwards roll.
It’s such a heavy price to pay. That fast talker can’t be Canadian?
“Don’t change the channel coz we’ll be righttttt back,” he hollers as he goosesteps Mario style, rigid as a stick. My fuse seems shorter than usual. I have no idea what accent that is, his range is far too great.
He has more zip and zing than the Energizer Bunny.
This is the true cost my friend. The true cost of a new dog, who seeks out new excitements, no matter how well hidden, a power surging searcher, a sniffer hound that eats the remote control, so we are unable to skip the advertisements.

[*] And to the person who searched ‘methods to stop echolalia,’ I would add……..echolalia has it’s place, especially when someone emerges from the realms of the non-verbal, especially if there is poor or weak muscalature. It’s all great practice. Most of the time it is harmless. Phrases you might prefer not to hear will pass given time. They enjoy it and if you can tune in to their phraseology you may well be able to use this skill to your advantage. This mimicry is also a gift as it can help them pick up on current phrases of their peers…….I could go on………but some people are unlikely to be convinced.

So don't worry if you're running a bit short in the patience department, as an overly developed sense of humour may get just as far.

Wordless - Special Exposure Wednesday

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.

Finger puppet – Tackle it Tuesday

With the festive season over, you may find like me, that your home has been transformed into Santa’s Grotto, toys strewn over every available surface. If that is the case, then it might see a little odd to create yet more mayhem, but occasionally it is sometimes best to admit defeat and go with the flow.

You will need:-
Felt squares
Glue
Sharpie Permanent pens
A picture from your offspring
The temporary loan of your offspring’s finger




Examine the creature that your child has drawn to determine which, if any, are the most important features.






Match the colours as best you may.





Draw around your child’s finger tip splayed on a firm surface to ensure a good fit.






Allow space for 3-D and seam.

Once completed and the glue has dried your child now has a custom made introduction to the Thumb Wrestling Federation.

I kid you not.

This project was for one of my sons, that one who does not suffer from tactile defensiveness. Generally speaking, crafts of any kind do not interest either of them. In this particular instance, he was motivated by the "Thumb Wrestling Federation." He came up with this idea all by himself. He was so motivated that after a few initial outburst of frustration he understood that his describing words were not up to the task, hence, oh wonder of wonders, he was persuaded to draw and colour the image rattling around in his head. This project required several gallons of patience because I knew that his drawing wasn’t an exact match to what he envisioned. Perfection is king around here and hence he was able to verbally correct my errors, bigger, smaller, longer and so on.

All in all, he was satisfied with the results.

On completion he was ready, willing and able to commence "thumb wrestling." Whilst this might seem a little aggressive, for people with poor hand strength, weak finger isolation and poor motor control, I suspect we need not be overly worried. More importantly, this is a perfectly pleasant way of personal and intimate interaction. Who would have thought that he’d come up with his own social skills exercise. Yippee!

Now that's not normal but what is these days?

We all begin to adjust to our "new arrival" in our own individual ways. In the aftermath of the festive season there is a more than usual amount of messiness around. I warn everyone that things left about are likely to be chewed, or if they’re very unlucky, eaten. As usual, no-one pays any heed. I list a lengthy record of similar occurrences that they have each directly experienced with other people’s dogs in the recent and not so recent past. My list and the repeats of my list, sound like my own silent solo. A scratched record.

I prepare mentally for the first casualty. Which child victim? Which precious toy? I don’t need to wait long.

I gallop at the first scream of agony.

In the family room I find my son knelt on the floor before the dog with his hands under his muzzle, “dwop it "Fatcher!”
“Use a firm voice dear,” I encourage.
“Dwop it Fatcher!”
"Maybe he doesn't recognise his name? You could try the 'th' sound?"
"Dwop it f f th thatcher!"

Thatcher reluctantly drops the package of sharp plastic corners, part of a prized Christmas present. He slips the packet into the back of his pyjama bottoms, out of sight, so that both hands are free to pet and praise the dog for his amazing feat of obedience. Perfectly sequenced steps. Seamless ideation. We chorus good dog. My son chortles deliciously as Thatcher licks his ears and neck. He expresses no concern or anger at the ruined toy.

Lesson learned.

“He dun bin choke on dat bad fing!”

His sole concern is the welfare of the dog.

Several lessons learned.

Below is a picture of yet more advanced social skills. My son and Thatcher curl up for a cat nap, which may not be of any great significance. Only the real baby sleeps. However, if I also consider the fact that this is 15 minutes into the sacred ‘electronics’ time, half way through his precious half an hour, then this would seem infinitely preferable and maybe a teeny tiny bit admirable, but there, I’m letting my bias show.






As his little brother said:-

“Finally! Someone who likes fire hydrants as much as me.”

It's probably a Garfield quote.



Don't forget to nip along and say 'hi de ho' to "Michelle's" family over at "Full Soul Ahead," and see if you might be able to "help out" with her post called "A Service Dog For Riley."

What’s in a name?

A very long time ago I gave my little brother a cheap and nasty teddy bear. It was very small and constructed in what I can only describe as squares and rectangles.

It might have just passed muster if it had been biscuit coloured but unfortunately it was a pure shade of dun. Fortunately I gave it with love and from the very few pennies in my possession. For some unaccountable reason, he and the bear bonded. He being a youthful kind of a little brother, he concocted a lengthy, convoluted name for a bear no larger than his pudgy little hand. Jumbo Jet Teabags, as he was affectionately known for short, and my brother, were quite inseparable for many a long year. Jumbo Jet Teabags full name, is lost on my weakened memory card, but I believe he had a great number of them, one for each letter of the alphabet.

Currently we own, or rather, we adopted as family members, two cats named Unis and Rascal. They are both boys. They are both brothers. These were the only two names that my children could agree upon. Any pet I have ever owned has always been called either Fred or George. I’m not good at names. I’m great at faces.

I think these things as I sit on the floor with the experiment. The experiment is hairy rather than furry. The colour of champagne, smallish and exuberant. Like most new-borns, he is currently nameless, but responds well to everything from ‘pot of tea?’ to ‘puppy.’

The naming ceremony shall commence shortly.

I hereby declare that I am going to fudge the results. We do have a short list but if you think for one moment that I am going to be running around the neighbourhood park calling Geckcelia / Daddidiogasaurus / Minch Pin/Curly / Darky/ Fluffy Queen / Gorgeous One / Licky /Surprise /Death Wish the First/Killer Junior / Inappropriate Species, then you’ve got another thing coming my fine friend. As head poop collector, feeder, companion and mistress, that hound shall henceforward be named George. And that’s final.

Addendum.

I lied. Puppy will be called Thatcher. I bet you a farthing that you cannot guess why?

Here are a couple of unhelpful hints, “here” and “here.”



Now other people are also in need of such companions such as "Michelle's" family over at "Full Soul Ahead," so you may wish to pop on over and see if you might be able to "help out" with her post called "A Service Dog For Riley."

We are nocturnal……again

I find him at three in the morning in the downstairs bathroom, sodden, in the dark with a torch. As I snap on the light I find the source of the water as the bidet spurts a fifteen foot fountain to the ceiling.
“What are you doing!”
“Er……I’m try to be a make my own rainbow.”

Sorry I didn’t have the camera handy, but I’m sure you get the picture.

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from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://www.lighteningonline.com/"><img src="http://i135.photobucket.com/albums/q158/mmcewen/smiley-saturday-1.jpg" /></a>

Tidal waves

Laundry, laundry everywhere and not such much as a pair of clean undies in sight. It would appear that the world has conspired against me. Soon a blanket ‘no clothes’ policy will be mandatory.

It all starts off well and good, but during the course of the day the full hampers are emptied, although how they managed to dump it all on the Christmas tree I have no idea. The hampers become boats as they sail away down the river or careen down the stairs.

My daughter and friends return from their adventure, stained with oil and mud splatters.

Quite soon I shall have to adopt "Nonna’s" campaign. Nonna shares her room with an oversized fus ball table. Her closet and hangers are bare. Instead the handles of the game are draped with her clothing, categorized for ease of use:- worn once for a few seconds which therefore does not need washing, worn for an hour, worn for less than half a day, worn for an indeterminate period of time that we can’t quite remember now, but better err on the side of caution. Quite bewildering but since it’s a system that minimizes laundry I’m suddenly all for it.

My sons vie over certain items of clothing that most resemble a Mario costume. As food consumption increases, diets broaden but fine motor skills lag behind, we find that clothing stained and soggy is abandoned after each meal, three times a day or possibly five, if snacks are unduly sloppy.

I blame the chef myself.

I stack the laundry in heaps piled high on the drier, in a weak attempt to foil those who would do me wrong. After less than a single day, it is an unwieldy health hazard that threatens to unravel and bury a victim in an avalanche of clothing. I lay the white cotton shirts on the top, delicately, because I am allergic to ironing, shut the door and set about other equally pressing tasks such as what to cook for ten for dinner and the exact location of the toilet plunger.

Fortune smiles upon me such that I find both the nak.ed brothers and the toilet plunger in the same location, the stairs. I point out that "Daleks" always wear their outer casing for protection, as a toilet plunger is generally considered inadequate when it comes to world domination and the elimination of the human race. I confirm that to the best of my knowledge, "Daleks’" preferred diet definitely includes a large proportion of vegetables.

I leave them to play and stomp back downstairs to hunt down a suitable, but nonetheless handy, hiding place for the most important toilet tool I possess. Is there anyone else on the planet that uses one every day? Who else has to rescue so many foreign objects from an innocent and really quite dull toilet bowl? Why is the sink so much less attractive than a toilet, especially when it is set at a far more convenient height?

What can I cook to go with the vegetables?

As I pass through the dimly lit utility room, I notice something blinky and sparkly high up on the teetering tower of neatly folded laundry. As I reach up to dislodge the fur ball cat from his new warm nest, he decides to abandon ship with full force, sending the mountain cascading down upon me.

Tonight’s menu:-
Vegetables and Fried Feline fritters.

Give Away

The oh so very delightfully charming "Lis Garrett" from "Root and Sprout" is hosting a giveaway today.

Can that possibly be one word?

Click on the flower to whizz you right there
OR
Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://www.rootandsprout.com"><img alt="Root & Sprout" src="http://i287.photobucket.com/albums/ll152/lisgarrett/002-1-1.jpg" /></a>

Similarly charmingly and delightfully, "Debbie" from "Three Weddings" is also hosting a give .......away......sorry I just can't put those two words together again.


Debbie's

Click on one of the brides to whizz you right there
OR
Get the code:-
Cut and paste
from this little
boxy thing below

<a href="http://weddingsx3.blogspot.com"><img alt="Three Weddings" src="http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f367/justbagulous/OpenBlog/Header-1-1.jpg" /></a>

As a result, these two thoroughly reprobate bloggers have double dared me to do likewise. Up until now, I have never given anything away if I could possibly help it, and I'm quite certain that there will be a whole host of pitfalls that I'm about to plop into.

Since I am allergic to visiting the post office I need to find something light that I can just pop in an envelope. I'm tempted to choose something 'gently used' but just about everything around here is already pummeled to a pulp.

Ideally it should be something that nobody wants which means that no-one will enter which means I won't have to worry about unforeseen abysses for the unwary.

It also ought to be something that might be a good match for a juniorish sort of a person. Since I am a betting woman by nature, I think it best to offer one of these,







then there is a 50-50 chance that it might be a good fit. I can't send you mine because it's a bit manky and mangled. I can't send you the one that I already gave away, so I need to get busy with the sewing machine.........right now........ and find my googley eyes.

Maybe I need to construct a "user manual"?

So don't forget to nip along and say 'hi de ho' to "Lis Garrett" and "Debbie"

Mine will be an open offer until the last day of January and then we'll attempt a random choice.

That should prove to be a challenge in itself!

In a final note, please include "Barbara" from "The Extras" on her unique "give aways," in her post entitled "Bridges."

And finally final, spend a mo dawdling with "Trish" at "Another Piece of the Puzzle" who also has a spiffing give away over at her "site" someone who is quite possibly the busiest and most productive blogger around as you can guess from her thoroughly impressive "summary" post here over at "5 Minutes for Special Needs Mums."