Picture this

August 1, 2010


Though there is still a month left of summer (two for us homeschoolers! heh), Picture Summer has come to an end. I now have a new love for my camera and feel less unsure of myself with it. I’ve also learned some cool post-processing tricks and don’t feel like I’m “cheating” if I tweak a photo to make it look better.


Here is a nifty collage I made of some of my favorite shots of the month:

And, though I’m sad to say goodbye to any aspect of summer, I won’t have to miss Tracey Clark and her class at Big Picture Scrapbooking for long: Picture Fall will be enrolling soon and starting on October 1.

Who wants to join me? There are pictures to take.

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I wrote about Picture Summer on Cool Mom Picks but paid my own way into class this summer, and will do the same this fall. It ended up costing me a whopping $1 a day, but the support I got from others in the class, as well as from Tracey herself, was worth every penny.
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The poor middle child

July 31, 2010


When I found out I was having a third child several years ago, my first thought flew to Jilly who was going to quickly become a “middle”. For some reason, middle children were the objects of much pity when I was younger. Woe is the poor, neglected middle child, and all that jazz.


I bought a birth order book to figure out how to keep my middle child from being totally screwed up by her place in our family.

I shouldn’t have worried.

If memory serves me correctly, this book basically said that “middles” were some of the most well-adjusted kids in the family. They weren’t pressured and hovered over like first borns, and they weren’t babied like the, well, babies.

And, while Jilly is only seven, I think this book may have been right.

A good friend recently wrote about her:

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who is so unashamedly *herself* as (Jilly).

I LOVE this quality in her. I love that she hugs everyone, including adults who often look so surprised when they find her arms around their waist.

I love that she dances backwards in the supermarket while I push the carriage toward her, singing “you can’t catch me, you can’t catch me” as she boogies through the store.

Here she is dancing in Express:



I love that when her YMCA camp held tryouts for their YMCA’s Got Talent show, she tried out. By singing opera. I asked her, “what are you going to sing???” and was told, “Mom don’t be silly! Opera doesn’t have any words!” She didn’t make it to the finals, but she was content with her lollipop for trying out.

And when the last day of camp came to a finish on “Hollywood Week”, she donned an outfit much too warm for the 80 degree morning, but she sure looked cute.

Photobucket

Her fashion sense is ridiculously awesome. I only wish I could dress with as much freedom as she does. And look so cute in knee socks.

I think my “poor middle child” is doing okay, don’t you?



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Filed Under: Fairly Odd Kids, Fairly Odd Me 24 Comments

Drug-free zone

July 26, 2010


For the past week, I’ve driven my oldest child back and forth to a day program for kids with a whole host of issues: anxiety, anger, separation issues and one kid who likes to see people in pain (ouch). The purpose of this program is to “stabilize her” and teach her coping skills so that when she feels anxious, she knows how to deal with those feelings.


Did you see my quotes around “stabilize her”? That’s because “stabilize her” is another term for “let’s see how she’s doing on the drugs we prescribe”.

When I sat down to talk to a therapist on our child’s first day in the program, I was told that we’d both be meeting with the doctor that day. He would evaluate our child and tell us whether or not she needed drugs.

What percentage of children does he recommend medicating?, I asked with the same trepidation I felt when asking a doctor for his c-section frequency.

90%, I was told matter-of-factly.

Pffffff. Surely, he’d take one look at my daughter, talk to her a bit and realize she was in the 10% that doesn’t need a thing. She’s anxious, not jumping out of her skin. She has tantrums, but doesn’t punch holes in walls or hurt family members. He’d see she is just a little girl who could use some help finding her way.

I was wrong.

After 20 minutes of conversation with her, and a quick meeting with me, I walked out with a prescription for Risperdal and about 10,000 more questions, which I proceeded to ask this doctor over the course of the week.

Why this medicine? (it will stabilize her mood.)

Does she really need drugs? (not sure. maybe! it’s worth trying.)

What about these crazy side effects? (we have her on the lowest dosage possible. maybe she won’t have any side effects. thoughmaybeshewill.)

Shouldn’t we try therapy first? (um, yeah, in a perfect world, but insurance wants kids to be “stable” before we do therapy)

But this isn’t an anxiety medication! (I really have to get going. . .)

In all fairness, the doctor was very understanding of our hesitation, though when my husband called him with a similar list of questions, he heard the frustration coming through loud and clear. I don’t think he wants to talk to us anymore was the text I got that afternoon.

But, starting on Day 2 of the program, I was asked Is she taking her meds? from the therapists as soon as we walked in the door.

Nooooooooo. . .not until we’re sure she needs it, I’d lamely reply, not sure if I’m doing the right thing at all.

Our pediatrician backed me up though, so I didn’t feel totally alone. I filled the prescription and put it on top of my refrigerator in case we decide to use it, but I just can’t do it so early in her treatment.

And, here’s the thing: I’m not anti-pharmaceutical. I take five drugs to manage my asthma and allergies every single day. Some of the drugs I’ve taken have side effects that make me hesitate, but they work, and I can breathe. My kids are vaccinated and take OTC meds when needed. I know wonderful, smart people whose wonderful, smart kids have benefited greatly from medication.

But, to prescribe something after a 20 minute meeting with my child seems too quick. As my pediatrician said as I fumbled around to justify my decision: You are her mother. No one knows her better than you. No one is going to make a decision in her best interest more than you. Do what you think is best right now.

Though if someone came up to me with a little pill that promised to instantly turn her back to her old self without any side effects, I’d snatch it up in a second.

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Filed Under: Fairly Odd Kids, Fairly Odd Me, Health n Food Talk 44 Comments
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