Mmm...Candy Corn

Today is Halloween (I can read a calendar!) and that means my days are numbered…my days with candy corn that is. There is just something about those tricolor triangles I can't get enough of. Candy corn is the best Halloween candy—definitely not those weird and hard half peanut butter-half taffy misconcoctions (like my new word?) wrapped in black and orange. Candy corn is Halloween (just like Peeps are Easter and conversation hearts are Valentine’s Day).

I think candy corn is the perfect candy for Halloween because neither one of them makes much sense. I mean October 31st is dually a cutesy and fun day populated with princesses, cowboys, and ladybugs; and a gruesome and satanic day infested with serial killers, vampires, and skanks. I love candy corn even though they don’t taste that great. The bag makes a big deal about them being made with real honey. I can’t taste the honey (or the corn either). And why are they white, orange, and yellow striped? If I husked a cob of corn and saw that it had white, orange, and yellow kernels, I would ask for my money back. Well, I think I will end this post so I can go finish my last handful (or 14 handfuls) of candy corn until next year. I apologize for wasting your time with my musings on candy corn (I'll send you a bag to make up for it).

My Kid is Way Cooler Than Your Kid

Yep, it's true; Peter is the coolest kid around (just ignore the previous post!). Check him out. He's got the Van's shoes with the flaming skulls (thank you Sallie & Geoff). He has the awesome black Hurley skater pants complete with studs on the pockets (thank you Mom & Dad). And he has a black t-shirt featuring a tricked-out trike (thank you Tara & Joe). But I'm pretty sure Peter got his coolness/awesomeness from me (yes, I am delusional). Don't you love the serious look on his face? I guess Peter was trying out his biker look.

Oh Peter, You're So Pretty

I can’t wait until Peter is 13 and has a group of his friends at our house; I also can’t wait to meet his first serious girlfriend. Why? Well, so I can bust out with “Oh, Peter do you remember when you were 1 ½ and you <insert embarrassing behavior or action. > You were so adorable.” (Of course I’ll say this while pinching his cheek.) It will be hilarious to embarrass my son (hey, my parents did it, your parents did it, and you’ll do it to your kids, too!) And Peter has given me some rather good ammunition these past two weeks. I can already hear him wretchedly moaning, “Moooooooommmmm!”

One morning two weeks ago, I put my hairbrush on the bathroom counter after brushing my hair. A couple of minutes later when I went to pick it up, it was gone. Now this is nothing new—Peter loves to clear off my bathroom counter by taking everything I touch and putting it in either the bathtub, trashcan, or hallway. But this time I turned around and Peter was behind me trying to brush his hair with my brush. A few minutes later I found him with my eyelash curler; he would shut one of his eyes and press the closed curler against his eyelid; I guess he thought his ridiculously long eyelashes needed a bit of curl. (It should be against the laws of nature for a boy to have longer eyelashes than his mother!) Now, Peter brushing his hair and curling his eyelashes probably don’t seem like a big deal, but they are actually very exciting developments. They are the first time Peter has spontaneously imitated a task-oriented action not dealing with food. Toddlers on the Autism Spectrum often don’t mimic everyday activities. So, GO PETER!

(Unfortunately, every time I tried taking his picture, Peter would lower the eyelash curler so he could see the camera with both eyes)

Well, Peter has repeated his beautifying routine several times while picking up a new favorite activity: he loves to empty out my makeup bag. He then lines all the products up on the floor, and then transports them individually into his room (he seems to be particularly fond of the MAC eye shadow). I don’t know who enjoys this new play sequence more, Peter or me (it’s great fun to watch Ryan roll his eyes when he sees Peter do this). Now while the makeup sorting and eyelash curler are embarrassing, I think Peter did something last Friday that will cause his cheeks to turn permanently red when he’s older. As I was putting on my bra Friday, Peter started shaking his shoulders and bending his knees. I couldn't figure out what he was doing until I realized that that is what I do! I never paid attention before, but when I put on my bra I twist my shoulders and slightly bounce my knees (basically a mild shimmy). Yes, Peter imitated my putting on my bra. And he did it again yesterday. Maybe it’s time Peter starts watching Ryan get ready in the mornings (5:00 am wakeup call for Peter!).

My Goopy Kid

Peter is sick again with another cold. That brings his cold count to the following: 2 colds in October and 900 colds since the beginning of June (alright maybe it’s only been 6, but it sure feels like 900). During the first fifteen months of his illustrious life Peter had a total of 2 minor colds (just the sniffles really). I guess I was bragging about that too much so the cosmos decided to humble me. There is nothing more humbling than a goopy, cranky kid crying over everything (apparently having your 3” tall block tower fall over is incredibly upsetting).

Peter is miserable and I wish there was more I could do for him. Unfortunately, you can’t give cold medicine to kiddos his age. He has to be satisfied with a cute frog humidifier, saline nose drops, and the much detested bulb syringe (and lots of naps and hugs). Peter hates the bulb syringe and I don’t blame him—I wouldn’t like someone sticking that in my nose. But I think I would hate BEING a bulb syringe even more. If by some crazy Disney-esque fluke I’m turned into a household product (à la Beauty and the Beast) being a bulb syringe would definitely be on my “Ew-That-Is-So-Gross-I’ll-Be-Anything-But-That” list. (Toilet plunger and anal thermometer would also be on the list.) Who would want to be a snot sucker forever?

I ♥ McDonald's Monopoly

October was Ryan’s favorite month before he married me. Watching MLB playoffs, attending BYU football games, following every NFL game—what more could a guy want? Then I came along and I brought with me an enthusiasm (okay, I admit it’s really an obsession) with McDonald’s Monopoly. McDonald’s yearly Monopoly promotion really is a brilliant move. They entice thousands of non-customers into their restaurants with the lure of winning a million dollars. And they encourage their regular customers to come more often. I mean if a person can win a million dollars by simply drinking Diet Coke, why not? It sure is easier than eating bugs while living for 39 days in a remote location with 15 other incredibly smelly people!

Has anyone ever won the million? I don’t know, but I do know not too many people have won the lesser cash prizes. And yet this does not hamper my passion. I just KNOW I am going to win (of course I have thought this for several years). Every October I quite simply get giddy at the idea of peeling off a new game piece from my food wrapper. And poor Ryan kindly eats more McDonald’s food in those 3 weeks in October than he does in the other 49 weeks of the year. I just simply have to collect as many game pieces as possible without actually eating a Big Mac (no amount of money will make me do that). And since they started the online game a few years ago, my quest for game pieces has intensified. When I was pregnant 2 years ago, I was known to ask other people for their game pieces instead of throwing them away—it’s amazing how little shame I had when pregnant! I am pathetic, but I can’t deny the embarrassing truth: I heart McDonald’s Monopoly. Please don't think less of me.

Poor Big Walter

I would like to introduce Big Walter, Peter's lovie and best buddy. Ryan and I suspect Peter loves this dumb dog more than us. Big Walter is seldom more than five feet from Peter (meaning I am required to devise detailed covert operations worthy of the CIA to get him into the washing machine without Peter’s knowledge). And we certainly could never put Peter to bed or down for a nap without his lovie (we have tried and are hoping our hearing returns one day). Yes, Big Walter is a necessity in Peter’s mind.

Why a white and red dog with a rose in its mouth? Good question, I will ask Peter for an explanation as soon as he can talk. Big Walter was originally a last-minute gift from Ryan on Valentine’s Day 2007 (2 days after Peter’s birth). I named the dog Walter (yes, I still name stuffed animals) and he became my new sleep buddy (no, I didn’t kick Ryan out) that I used every night (yes, I still sleep with a stuffed animal). Then when Peter spent his first night away from home in August of ’07, I sent Walter along so Peter would have something that smelled like me. Well, when we picked Peter up from my mom’s 18 hours later a deep and lasting love affair had begun between Peter and Walter. Because Peter already had a pacifier named Walter (a story for another day), MY WALTER THAT WAS RUDELY TAKEN FROM ME was renamed Big Walter.

poor Big Walter being squished by Peter Dec. 2007

Now over a year later, Big Walter is showing his age; his fur is now grey, not white; his collar ribbon and ribbon rose are badly fraying; his stuffing is considerably flat; he has small stains covering him; and he has an overall feeling of fragility. But the worst part is that he smells bad (no, he does not still smell like me). I’ve lost count of how many times I have spot cleaned him and put him in the washing machine, and yet the smell lightly persists. I fear that he can only withstand a few more washings before falling apart. Big Walter needs and deserves retirement, but convincing Peter of this is impossible. So I have spent more hours than I am willing to admit scouring the Internet for a replacement. Apparently, Big Walters are very rare (or are all in various landfills across the globe) because I can’t find one. And my search has been made harder because I carefully cut the tag off over a year ago, so I have no idea who made the ugly thing. I’ve tried looking through our financial records to see where Ryan originally bought it. I even found a website dedicated to helping parents find lovies. But so far nothing, unless I want to commission a Chinese manufacturer with an order of 600 Big Walters (can you imagine the look on Pete’s face if he walked into a room with 600 of his dogs!) Well, the search continues as Peter continues adoring his Big Walter.

Own a Vera Wang!

I came across this while looking through the ad of a local furniture store:

Yes, you too can own a Vera Wang...a Vera Wang mattress! As a former fashion editor at Vogue, much-coveted bridal gown designer, and all-around amazing fashion designer, Vera Wang is at the top of the fashion world. And she has kindly and beautifully translated her design sensibilities into popular houseware collections, off-the-rack clothing lines, fragarances, shoes, etc. BUT MATTRESSES! Who cares if the stitching on the mattress is elegant? At best the ONLY person to see it will be you for the five minutes each week you change the sheets. I can only think of one reason to buy a Vera Wang mattress for the sake of it being a Vera Wang: all the "wang" jokes.

A Failed Pursuit of Perfection

Is being a perfectionist a weakness? Well if it involves messing up a birthday cake for your best friend, then yes it is a weakness—a big, gooey ugly weakness.

I decided to make a cake for my friend Faith’s birthday last week. But this wasn’t going to be an ordinary Betty Crocker box cake—open, mix, bake, eat—I was going to bake a genuine “from scratch” cake. Faith has had to cut all dairy and egg products from her diet because of her son E.’s newly discovered food allergies. So I thought it might be nice treat for her to have a yummy cake sans eggs and dairy. Having no recipes for such a cake, I searched for one on the Internet and found what I thought was a winner: raisin spice cake with faux cream cheese frosting.

One evening I made stop at our local health foods store to pick up non-dairy margarine (I had never realized that margarine has dairy in it!) and non-dairy cream cheese (yes, such a thing exists). After expanding my culinary knowledge of alternative foods, I headed home with high hopes. Around 11 the next morning I started the cake by boiling the Crisco, water, raisins and combination of spices. I’m stirring the boiling mixture thinking how awesome I am. Woohoo, I’m baking and it smells good; go me! After 10 minutes of boiling I took the saucepan off the burner to let it cool pursuant to the recipe’s instructions. Now I mistakenly thought it would take 30 minutes for the raisin mixture to cool, so when I burned my finger checking it 45 minutes later I was more than a little ticked. Into the fridge went the saucepan. I thought this a very brilliant idea—not so much. Thirty minutes later I opened the fridge to find a nice hardened ½ inch layer of Crisco atop a sticky slosh of raisins. Crap. Back to square one. I reboiled the mixture and let it cool on its own for about an hour and a half. Next I mixed it with the dry ingredients and poured it into a greased 9x13 pan, I repeat a greased 9x13 pan, and then put it into the oven for 45 minutes.

Part of my disaster

Sometime later I frantically pulled the cake out of the oven because I had forgot to set the timer. I inexpertly judged the cake done and let it cool for a while then flipped it out of the greased pan onto a cooling rack. It seems that I own a selfish cake pan because it insisted on keeping chunks of the cake bottom. As the cake cooled I discovered a tiny spot of slightly uncooked cake in the middle. No problem. I sliced a two-inch strip from the middle giving me two 9x5 ½ sections of cake. I placed the two portions together on an upturned cookie sheet and covered them with the fake cream cheese frosting I made earlier. Done. I had what looked like a delicious cake (despite the slightly off color of the frosting). As a finishing touch, I sprinkled raisins over the top. Next I moved the cake, or rather portions of it, to an oval tray. Apparently my patch job with the frosting tricked me into picking the cake up like it was one solid piece, not two separate ones placed side by side. My result was four pieces of cake each having a jagged, crumbly edge. Hmmm…how about a layer cake. I stacked two layers before remembering I had already washed the bowl with remaining frosting thus leaving me no frosting to finish the sides of the cake. Frustrated and not thinking, I indelicately grabbed the top layer causing it to separate into two unequal portions. I tried scraping the remaining top layer off and instead mashed cake crumbs into the frosting covering the top of the bottom layer. Okay, Faith will only get half of the cake, I can use the other two pieces that I didn’t stack and just rework the frosting to cover the exposed edges. Great idea except for the raisins placed into the hardening frosting. Instead of spreading the thick frosting into thinner layers I created a mass of raisin-studded frosting on my knife. Fine, I give up. I cut the last of the four cake portions into two, and salvaged a slice of similar size from an earlier botched attempt and placed them on a plate like three brownies. It’s now 5 in the afternoon, and the only things I’ve accomplished are 1) decorating my kitchen counter with cake crumbles, squished raisins and sticky frosting; and 2) giving my friend a pathetic offering of three slices of cake.

I’m thinking of opening a vegan bakery in the near future. Anyone interested in fronting the costs?

Autism Spectrum Disorder

On Tuesday Peter was diagnosed as having Austism Spectrum Disorder, meaning he has autism. Currently, the Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) category includes:

1. Autistic disorder (“classic” autism);
2. Asperger’s Syndrome;
3. Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS) or atypical autism;

Because of his age (20 months) and relatively absent language skills, Peter has been given the umbrella diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder. By the time he is 2 ½ or 3 years old, they will be able to accurately identify which of three disorders listed above he has. (For sake of clarity, the medical community calls all three ASDs autism, but the term autistic is reserved for those who have Autistic disorder—confusing isn’t it!)

At Peter’s six-month well-child exam I had some concerns that I discussed with his pediatrician. In fact, I flat out told him I thought Peter might have autism. He deftly assuaged my worry informing me that it really is not possible to diagnosis autism before 18 months of age. Also the fact that Peter was 5 weeks premature could just as easily account for his delays and behavior. However, he told me that my concerns were legitimate and we would need to keep an eye on Peter. Well, almost fourteen months later we finally have a diagnosis.

No parent wants to hear her child has a disorder, however, a diagnosis can provide direction, validation, and a modicum of relief. While I didn’t want Peter to have an Autism Spectrum Disorder, I did want to know what was going on and what Ryan and I could do to help him. We now have answers (and many new questions). Peter may still have Auditory Neuropathy or an Auditory Processing Disorder in addition to autism, but no matter what he has autism. (He is scheduled to undergo a brain-stem test in December to determine if he has Auditory Neuropathy.)

We are still trying to process what all this means and figure out where to go from here (we’re Amazon.com’s new favorite friend). We are trying to sift through the inordinate amount of information available. Unfortunately, opinion and anecdotal evidence, instead of science, seems to be in the majority. We’re confused, but we’re confused with a purpose. Thankfully all this means nothing to Peter right now. He only thinks we have been taking him to offices so he can play with nice people and different toys.

I want to thank everyone who has expressed their love and concern for Peter, Ryan and me in the past few months. It is reassuring to know how many people care about our little family and our adorable little guy. I know that it is sometimes hard to know what to say and that there is always the worry of saying the wrong thing, but I want to assure you that just saying something and acknowledging our situation has given us comfort. Those who have given support in simple ways have made a huge impact. Thank you.

Welcome to my awesomeness

It is time to rejoice—Kristin has a blog! Now everyone can experience my fascinating life, charming personality, witty monologues and clever thinking. Or you can enjoy my nonsensical musings and lackluster doings.