Cherry Cake with Fudge Filling and Triple Berry Frosting - Tasty Tuesday!

So Mister Man is officially 9.  While we haven't had his birthday party yet - and to be honest, I haven't planned it so shhh - we did celebrate as a family the day he turned 9 on 10/11/12 (seriously, how cool is that?).  And celebrations mean one thing: he gets to choose his dinner and the kind of cake I make for him.

Once again, he chose French toast, so once again I didn't actually eat the birthday dinner I made.  I know... I make an awesome French toast, but I don't like it.  Go fig.  I just discovered that I haven't put up my recipe for this, so apparently that happens the next time I make it.  Because you want that recipe.

Mister Man also asked for a cherry cake with triple berry frosting.  It was good.  Really good.

Cherry Cake

Ingredients:
2 sticks butter, room temperature
1 3/4 c sugar, separated
4 eggs, separated
2 3/4 c flour
2 1/2 t baking powder
3/4 t salt
1 c milk
1 t vanilla bean paste (or vanilla extract, same quantity)
1/2 t almond extract
1 cup dried cherries, chopped
1/4 t cream of tartar

Directions:
Beat the butter until it's creamy.  Slowly pour in 1 1/2 cups sugar while it's mixing (save the extra 1/4 cup for later), and beat on high until it's lightened in color and nice and fluffy, somewhere around three to five minutes of beating.  Separate your eggs while the butter and sugar are mixing.  Slowly add the egg yolks, one at a time, mixing well between each addition.

Add the baking powder and salt, and mix well.  Add 1 cup of flour and stir until mostly combined.  Add the vanilla, almond extract, and 1/2 of the milk and stir until combined.   Add 1 more cup flour, stir.  Add the rest of the milk and stir.  Add the last of the flour and stir one last time.  Next, add the cherries, and carefully stir until just combined.

Why stir so little?  You don't want the flour to form gluten strands, which happens when you overmix it.  That's why you get bubbles in your muffins and cakes, which is not the look we're going for.  It also makes them tough, and we want a nice, light cake.

Next up is the egg whites you've been saving.  When they start, they'll look like this:

Add the cream of tartar, and start beating the egg whites.  Once they've gotten nice and frothy, go ahead and slowly add the last 1/4 cup sugar you were reserving while still beating the eggs.  Continue to beat them until they form soft peaks.  If you overbeat, they'll dry out and get nasty - again, not what we're going for.

Add about 1/4 of the beaten egg whites to your cake batter, and stir gently to combine.  You need to sacrifice some of the lovely fluff so the batter loosens enough to accept the rest of the egg whites.  This helps make the cake stay light and fluffy.  Once you have the first bit incorporated, pour the rest of the egg whites into the batter and gently fold the egg whites into the batter.  Scrape with a spatula under all the batter and twist to lift.

Grease 2 9x2 pans well (or 3 8x2).  Pour the batter evenly into the pans, and preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Bake for 25 to 35 minutes, until the cake tester comes out clean.  Let the cakes cool in the pans on a rack for 10 to 15 minutes before inverting them to remove from the pans and cool the rest of the way.  Once they're fully cooled, frost as desired.

So.  We did a fudge filling (because my dad wanted chocolate in there) and a triple berry frosting.  While this looks like I used some sort of dye, I didn't.  And the crumbs?  Because of the cherry bits in the cake, the knife sticks some while cutting and pulls them loose.  This is actually a cake that doesn't have a lot of crumbs because it is so moist and yummy.

I don't measure anything when making frostings or fillings, so play with them.  They're very forgiving.

So the fudge filling: I used about 3 T butter, 1/2 c cocoa powder, 3 T milk and 2 c powdered sugar.  Oh, and a teaspoon or so of vanilla.  Maybe.  Basically, melt the butter in a heavy saucepan over medium heat.  Add the milk and cocoa powder and stir.  Start adding powdered sugar.  Add a little more milk if it's too thick.  Add powdered sugar until it's as thick as hot fudge sauce (not chocolate syrup).  Keep stirring over the heat until the fudge starts falling off the spoon cleanly.  Stir until it's cooled down to almost room temperature and has thickened nicely.  The constant stirring helps incorporate air and keeps it soft and yummy.  Spread it on the cake.

And the triple berry frosting?  I used maybe half a cup of frozen berries, 2 T butter, and powdered sugar, maybe 3-4 cups.  Again, heat the berries and butter in a heavy saucepan until they're melted, then start adding the powdered sugar.  After awhile, I used my immersion blender to puree the berries in the frosting, then added more powdered sugar and cooked for another five minutes or so.  I stirred while letting it cool some, then spread it over the cake.

Yum.

Enjoy this and more with Blessed With Grace and Tempt My Tummy Tuesday.  Rachel from A Southern Fairytale has an awesome Mouthwatering Monday linkup that I participate in, too.

Wrong Closet

Yesterday was Mister Man's birthday.  He turned 9 on 10/11/12.  It was pretty cool, I thought - and yes, the post next Tuesday will be the recipe for the cherry cake with fudge filling and triple berry frosting I made.  Yum.

As we went through the presents, Mister Man was excited.  He got all sorts of fun things from my parents (and two books on Greek mythology from us that he loved).  My mom is never one to let one child have the spotlight and  the other child remain to the side, so much like we had the "birthday sister" when I was growing up, she made sure to have a present for Little Miss, though at least it wasn't wrapped.

As Mister Man worked his way down the pile (my parents tend to go overboard), her present became visible, and she loves her new Halloween shirt.

Mister Man got to his last box, and he soundly denounced it as "clothes."  He opened it up, and he was right - it was clothing.  He held it up to show us, and my husband and I looked at each other....

Personally, I noticed the hot pink on the inside of the collar and around the "Boo!" first.  My husband noticed the sequins first.  We both noticed that the cut of the shirt is a girl cut.  My mom still didn't understand.  She bought a black shirt.  Why wouldn't it be for boys?

It was only when I asked her if she had moved from the girl department before finding this that it really dawned on her.  Remember the nursery rhyme rewrites?  She's losing it.

And that black shirt?  Well, Little Miss two Halloween shirts now.

Whose Child Is This Anyway?

I received a call from Mister Man's teacher this afternoon before they got off the bus. "I'm not sure how to tell you this," his teacher began, "but Mister Man bit someone at recess today."

What?

My child isn't a biter. And he turns 9 tomorrow.  How does this happen?  As the story came from her - who wasn't there but heard about it after he was brought inside - he was trying to climb up a slide and a friend of his was trying to go down the slide and Mister Man somehow bit his friend in the shoulder.  He didn't break the skin, thank goodness, but it will leave a mark for awhile.  And it's totally not ok under any circumstances.  Mister Man had to miss the remainder of recess today and will stay inside with the teacher for the rest of the week, a fair punishment for a third grader, I think.

When Mister Man got home, I asked for his side of the story.  He explained that he and other boys were going up the slide, and some of his friends were at the top of the slide.  Another friend pushed the friend he bit, who came tumbling down the slide, and Mister Man was shocked by the boy tumbling into him.  And in his surprise, apparently his instinct was to bite the other child.  That's where I start blinking in confusion.

When my husband arrived home and heard about it, we immediately looked at each other.  "Was it you?"  "Were you a biter?"  The questions over whose family this trait originated began.  It obviously wasn't something that was taught, so it must be innate, and we immediately start looking to see if a trait came from my side or from his side, not tallying, not keeping score, but just knowing.

It's human nature in some what to want to understand where you originated, what  you pass to your children, what little things will remain forever memorialized.  But it isn't and can't be the focus.

Instead, I sat Mister Man down and had him write a very nice apology letter that he will give to his friend, explaining most importantly that he didn't mean to hurt his friend.  And, of course, asking to have a playdate soon so that he can show how good of a friend he can be.

And I'll be crossing my fingers not to get another call like this one for a long time.  I don't want to be responsible for any more entertaining Facebook posts on her wall.

In the interest of full disclosure, this post was written as part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts inspired by the books we read rather than traditional book reviews.  This month's book was "The Black Count" by Tom Reiss.  I receive a copy of the book for review purposes, but there was no compensation as part of this campaign.  All opinions remain my own.

Yes, Changing Schools In The Middle Of The Year Works

As my friends have children who are school age, more and more of them are becoming concerned about waiting until the end of the school year before they move.  So many of them want to be sure that they finish the school year at the current school and start the school year at a new school.

Me?  I have a different perspective.

When I was growing up, I moved around a lot as my dad was transferred.  Sometimes we moved in the middle of the year, and sometimes we moved during the summer.  And honestly?  It was always easier to move during the school year than it was during the summer.

Why?  Well, there were a lot of reasons....

First, when you come into school during the year, everyone knows you're the new kid.  In elementary school, you're likely to be assigned a buddy to help you find your way and make friends.  I usually got cards from the entire class welcoming me, which was an amazing feeling for the new kid.

It made it easier when everyone knew I was the new kid.  When I didn't know how the lunchroom routine worked, they knew why and the teachers were patient.  When the curriculum was different from what I'd studied before, they got why and were easily able to assess what I needed to work on to get where I needed to be.

At the beginning of the school year, the kids are so excited to see their friends, many of whom they haven't seen all summer.  A new kid easily gets lost in the shuffle of everyone else.  It wasn't ever as easy to make friends at the start of the school year.  The teachers were less likely to know that I was new to the school, as well, and they weren't as patient when I made mistakes - whether it was not knowing how to get to gym class or not understanding the curriculum because it was so different from what I'd learned previously.

And the biggest part for me?  When I moved in the middle of the year, we moved, and I started school right away.  In the summer?  We moved and then I waited.  The anxiety of the first day of school built up while I waited and waited to start at my new school.  It was a lot harder in that sense, too.

I get the adults wanting to make a clean break.  We know about finishing a task before starting something new.  Kids?  That's not always how their minds work, and it isn't quite the same for them.

Why do I write this now?  We moved Mister Man in the middle of the year.  In fact, we moved him from the private school he had attended since kindergarten to a public school with three weeks left in the school year last May.  It was a shock to many of my friends at the school, but I explained the whys to them, and they got it.

Last year was a rough year for Mister Man for a lot of reasons, but the loving and nurturing teachers he had in kindergarten and the teachers who supported and then challenged him in first grade were not what we experienced in second grade.  The second grade teacher was one who wanted all students to fit into the box, and we weren't the only parents whose child was not in that box, not the only parents who had issues with the teacher - although I was lucky in that the teacher was still speaking to me, unlike her reaction to other parents in the classroom.  By spring, it was obviously a toxic environment.  When we had the opportunity to move - because we didn't move him to our home school - we took it.

And it was amazing.  His teacher was incredibly supportive and let us know how wonderfully he was doing in the classroom.  Instead of saying that there were 18 kids in the class, so no she couldn't put his math sheet upside down while giving the verbal instructions (not mentioning the fact that there is also a full time assistant in the class), the new teacher figured out on her own what she needed to do to keep Mister Man engaged in what he was supposed to do.  I never once heard "He just wants to do what he wants to do" from the new teacher, because that was not my child.  There are so many stories I could tell about last year that are just flat out wrong that led us to pushing for a move.

Had I not had the experience of moving during the school year and knowing how smoothly it can go, I might have had him finish out the year at the old school before moving.  I was lucky.  We made the change, and Mister Man's experience of moving during the school year was exactly as mine were years ago.

So what about you?  Did you ever move schools during the school year or over summer?  What was your experience?  Would you do it differently?

Nursery Rhyme Rewrite

On the way to tae kwon do yesterday, Mister Man was reading his Boys Life magazine and telling me the jokes within it.  Some of them I figured out on my own, and some needed a little prompting from Mister Man before I figured out the punchline.

Q: Where does a seashell put his money?
A: In a riverbank (I got that one)

Q: What do you call a giraffe in the middle of the road?
A: A giraffic jam (he had to give me the answer. I  would never in a million years have gotten that one)

Q: What did the fruit tree say to the farmer?
A: Stop picking on me (yeah, he had to give me the answer to that one, too)

Q: Why did Little Miss Muffet push Humpty Dumpty off the wall?
Me: Ummm, I have on idea.
Mister Man:  Because he got in her way.
Me: Ohhhhh that's funny.  I like it.
Mister Man: It's not funny.
Me: Yes, it is.  Why do you say it isn't funny?
Mister Man: Well, who care if he got in her way.  I don't get it.
Me: Because he got. in. her. WHEY.  Way.  Whey.  Get it?
Mister Man: (Puzzled look)
Me: Ok, so you know that Little Miss Muffet is a nursery rhyme, right?
Mister Man: Uh-huh.
Me: Ok, so say it for me.
Mister Man: Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet eating some butter and bread.  Along came a spider and sat down ....
Me: WAIT!  What did you just say?
Mister Man: Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet eating some butter and bread -
Me: Stop.  Did Grandma teach you this nursery rhyme?
Mister Man: Yes...

Yeah, well, that explains a lot.  He now gets the joke.  And he now knows the right version of the nursery rhyme.  One day I'll get my mom on video singing a song or reciting a poem.  I'm still trying to figure out how she graduated.

The Love Of Lists: It's Genetic

I wrote a couple weeks ago about how my morning routine had driven me to the brink.  I wasn't a good mom that day, but by later that day, I had recovered.  I came up with a plan to help make my morning smoother and help the wee ones take responsibility for what they need to do to get out the door - or suffer the consequences.

Much like I know that I get so much more done when I have a to do list, I know the wee ones do, too.  So I made them one in the morning that listed not just what they had to do, but by when it had to be complete.  They're still young enough that they need that coaching, and I'm happy to coach.  I'm just not happy saying "Let's go!  Let's go!  You need to move faster!" nonstop for an hour plus every morning.

So I'm not.

I made the list on a magnetic whiteboard (I love the no whining logo on it - $1 section at Target!) that the wee ones can erase each morning as they finish their tasks.  I give each task plenty of time - does it really take five minutes to put your shoes on? - because I want them to feel like they're successful at what they're doing, not that they're stressed out by what's coming next.

The first morning, Mister Man had eaten three bites of breakfast by 7:45, the appointed end time for breakfast.  I told him to get up and move to his next task.  He looked at me blankly, but did as I directed.  By the time he got to teeth brushed at 8am, he was ahead of schedule again, so he was able to sit down for a few more minutes where - amazingly - he actually ate half his breakfast, something he hadn't been able to accomplish in 30 minutes earlier.  They were on time for the bus, and it was awesome, even if breakfast wasn't fully eaten.

The second morning, breakfast was still a challenge, but Mister Man had eaten a little more and got ahead enough that he had time to finish all of it before he had to brush his teeth.  And he was proud of what he was doing and accomplishing.  I wasn't hustling anyone along, and I could feel my blood pressure decreasing.  Phew.

It's now been almost two weeks, and the vast majority of the time, Mister Man is putting his dishes in the dishwasher long before 7:45.  He knows what he has to do, as does Little Miss, and he's doing it by himself and taking responsibility for it.  He's decided that he loves lists, too - especially the crossing things off it part.

I still have some attitude each morning when I tell him he needs to start on his routine and get dressed at 7:10.  He whines that he hasn't had enough time to play, as both the wee ones are early birds and up before me.  There wouldn't be enough time to play if he did it 24/7 though, and I know that.  We're working on the whining because that grates on my nerves, but we've made so much progress with our mornings and everyone is happier.

Now if only I could keep it this way through the teen years....

What are your secrets for getting through the morning effectively?

Who Needs Spring?

Mister Man turned to me this weekend as we took a walk through our neighborhood.  Mom?  What season is your favorite?

A discussion ensued.  I enumerated the benefits of all the seasons from snow and hot cocoa to relaxing days at the pool to football and leaf piles to green and warming weather.

He looked at me as though I were insane.  Really, Mom?  You like spring?  Why?

Well, I replied thoughtfully (because that's what we do as moms in all situations), I like spring partly because you can see all the beautiful flowers blooming.

Flowers? he scoffed.  Who even likes flowers?

Well, kiddo, I smiled down at his indignant head (yay, he isn't yet 9 and I still have time to smile down at him before he begins to tower over me), there are lots of people who like flowers.

How do you know? he demanded skeptically.

People buy flowers all the time, Mister Man.

He shook his head in disgust.  Really?  Then, Mom, people get ripped off all the time.  All they're good for is sneezing.  Sheesh.  Some people....

Remind me not to buy him flowers anytime soon.  Oh my stubborn boy who sees the world in black and white instead of shades of grey.  My child who beats to his own drummer and heeds his own clarion call.  How could I ever resist him?

In the interest of full disclosure, this was part of the From Left to Write book club where we write posts inspired by the books we read rather than reviews of the books.  I did receive a copy of this book as part of the book club.  That said, all opinions remain my own.

The book we read this month was "The Bloodletter's Daughter" by first time novelist Linda Lafferty. 

Childhood Traditions: We Climb Trees

Fall has arrived, as I admitted to myself on Monday.  The days are still decent though - the chill of Chicago winters has yet to arrive, thankfully - and we're spending as much time as possible outside.  The wee ones love to ride their bikes and go for walks with us and more.

Each morning as we wait for the bus to arrive, Little Miss immediately runs for the tree in our front yard and scales it.  She's my monkey, my athlete, my gymnast, my strong little girl who has no fear.  Mister Man has always held back.  As much as he wants to climb the tree, he can't.

I've been convinced for a long time that his "can't" is more a "won't" than anything else.  I know that he lacks core strength and that his coordination isn't the same as other kids' abilities, thank you autism, but we've been working at it, and I'm seeing a difference in a lot of things from his ability to now do a pushup when he really wants to the ability to do a bridge up (trust me, this is incredibly difficult if you have low core and shoulder strength).

He will run to the tree and grab the climbing brand and his feet will peddle uselessly against the trunk, unable to gain enough purchase to stay.  He quickly drops back down, unable to use his arms and shoulders to lever himself up and over that branch.  He's been frustrated by it, not just because of his failure to climb, but because his almost two years younger sister has been climbing this tree for two plus years now.

I love that he never gives up.

And last weekend, he asked for my help for the first time in a long time.  I explained again that he needs to bend his elbows so that he has a chance to use his strength to pull himself up.  He has a tendency to not realize what his arms and body can do and what they are doing, so he will hand walk his hands further up the tree, never bending his arms and pulling his body towards the tree, not realizing that this tactic is doomed to failure.

Nodding, he grabbed the branch and used his feet to get his body horizontal.  With my hands touching and supporting him - letting him know I was there were he to fall, but not pushing him at all - he remembered to bend his arms when I pointed it out.  And he pulled himself into the tree for the first time.  You have no idea how bright that smile was.

I helped him down after awhile, and he practiced it another few times, the last couple without my help to prove to him that he really was doing it all on his own.  And then he stayed up there to read a book, finding the most comfortable branch to hang out on.

He now runs to that tree each time we have a few spare minutes and scampers up it.  Or tries.  He was shocked the other morning after it had rained that the tree was too slippery to climb.  And I watch him struggle into that tree, knowing that he can do it and that he's figuring out that he needs to have faith in himself to accomplish more than he ever dreamed.

And that?  That right there is all I want from him in life.  Happy, challenged, with faith in himself.  It isn't a big dream, but it's the one I have for my children.  What is your dream for your child?

I'm Crying Today - In A Good Way

I haven't written much about Mister Man's school change.  I'm still frustrated about a number of things at the old school, but I'm so glad we moved him before the end of the year last year.  He's now at the same school as Little Miss (whoo hoo, first time ever they've been in the same school at the same time and they get to ride the bus!), and it's been good so far.

The "so far" is what I'm worried about, of course.  It's so easy for the early part of school to work because everyone gives the kids a little leeway.  The things that grate on nerves aren't yet grating on nerves.  And Mister Man isn't fully comfortable, so he's on his very best behavior.

I wrote earlier this week about the special needs introduction letter "Mister Man" wrote to his teacher explaining his strengths and weaknesses and sharing strategies that we know work well for him.  It was sprinkled with pictures, and the hope is to have them understand him better so that the year is smoother for everyone.

The first day, I picked the wee ones up from school because Mister Man had tae kwon do.  His teacher stopped me in the hall and told me he had a wonderful day.  She said he was "the sweetest kid, and he got along so well with all the other students, too."  Phew.  Those are the things that ease a little of the weight from my shoulders.

Yesterday afternoon, I received an email from the art teacher.  Apparently the social worker shared the letter I had prepared with the specials teachers, as well - something I appreciate.  I read it while sitting in the car in a parking lot while running errands.  Whenever I see an email from the school, I always have to read it immediately so that I can fully process it before the wee ones get home.

Dear Michelle,
A copy of Mister Man's letter was in my mailbox. You are a wonderful Mommy to help Mister Man learn to advocate for himself and know that although he doesn't look exactly like the other kids in the crowd, he is the beautiful person that God made him to be. I have a son like that too.
You can rest assured that here, at New School, we will love your babies no matter what. They will be taken care of with love and respect and dignity. In fact, we often love the quirky ones best.
I know that Mister Man had a hard time in my overfull summer school class a few years back, although he did make strides just during that short time. I have been working to make sure he knows that I think he is awesome just as he is. I try to let all my students know that the art studio is a safe place where they will be listened to any time.
Thank You, and I am completely psyched for a GREAT year!
Mrs. Art Teacher

Now that?  That brings tears to my eyes.  Completely unsolicited.  She had to go look up my contact information to send this.  They care.  And they get my kid here.  No wonder the end of the year for him was so smooth and peaceful and trouble free.

I heaved another sigh of relief, called my mom to read this to her, and then I finished my errands for the day with a smile on my face.

Letters To The Tooth Fairy Backfire

As my husband and I drove to dinner the other day, I received a frantic call from Mister Man.

Mom!  Mom!  You'll never guess what just happened, he exclaimed.

Ummmm, you just lost your tooth? I inquired innocently.

Yes!  I said that I was about to lose a tooth and then I reached into my mouth and I pulled it out, and now I have a mouth full of blood, he declared proudly.

Oh, that's wonderful, Mister Man, I replied.

Yep, and as soon as I finish dinner, I'm going to go upstairs and brush my tooth really well.  It has a little bit of black on it, and I don't want her to throw it away.

Oh.  Oops.  Yeah, about that.  Remember how the wee ones have been writing letters to the Tooth Fairy?  And how the Tooth Fairy wrote back?  Yeah....

In the most recent letter, Mister Man had asked what the Tooth Fairy does with the teeth she collects.  She wrote back that she uses teeth to build her castle and that she has to keep getting more teeth because she needs to rebuild the walls when the dragon comes and knocks them down.  What I thought was my stroke of brilliance was adding that she was always looking for more teeth because she wanted the whitest, shiniest, cleanest teeth possible and that she threw away the dirty ones when she received better ones.

Brilliant, right?  What better motivation to brush well and keep teeth clean than that, right? 

Apparently not so much with my wee ones.  Mister Man decided to simply clean his tooth after it was out of his mouth.  Of course.

Now I'm afraid to see what havoc the most recent letter has wrought.

So what were your "brilliant" ideas that went bad?

Through My Child's Eyes

Tomorrow, Mister Man is making his First Holy Communion tomorrow.  Instead of getting ready for the party we're hosting here afterwards, I spent part of this morning going through some of the items that are slotted for the wee ones' memories boxes but haven't yet actually made it into them for some unknown reason (read: my husband hasn't gotten them off the very high shelf where they live).

I found this portrait of me that Mister Man made two years ago when he was in kindergarten.  It was for Mother's Day, and I remember how proud he was to present it to me at the tea held at his school.  We had a lovely afternoon, and all the kindergartners were so sweet.

But it's this portrait that keeps drawing me back.  It's always so interesting to me to see what children see when they look at people on a daily basis.  What is it that they remember and that sticks out to them?

I love that he ensured I had brown, curly hair.  Because at the time, my hair was long and curly.  While I've since cut it - significantly - and typically keep it straight now, this was a good representation.  And it's so like Mister Man to not have it be as long as it should be because he was afraid to color on the shirt because that might be against the rules.

The necklace is also very fitting.  I'm sure there were limited colors available - and I'm also sure that Mister Man chose every single purple bead that he could because he knows that purple is my favorite color.  Given how evenly the shirt is cut, I am certain that the teacher created these and simply handed them to the children, which is why the shirt is yellow.

There were things that surprised me.  I noticed for the first time today that Mister Man drew earrings on me.  I wear earrings every single day.  In fact, my earrings are generally the same ones each day, favorites that go with everything.  Interestingly, the earrings Mister Man drew look nothing like the ones I wear, but how would a six year old know how to draw diamond hoop earrings in Crayola marker?  I don't think I could do that.  Actually, I know I couldn't.  I have zero artistic talent.

And though he added many details - from the eyebrows to pink hearts on my cheeks (I'm guessing that was suggested by the teacher?) to the multitude of eyelashes, the details weren't exactly spot on.  I only wish my eyelashes were that long and thick.  Yet there is one error.  Mister Man gave me green eyes.  My eyes are blue, a very light blue actually.  And that has me thinking.

Do kids not pay attention to eye color on a regular basis?  Is the fact that Mister Man doesn't look in my eyes because of his autism play into the fact that he doesn't know what color my eyes are?  Did he color them green because he has hazel eyes (green is the closest approximation in marker) and wants to be like me?  Or did he just flat out forget?
Either way, this is a portrait I'm keeping.

There Really Is A Generation Gap

Last night, the wee one and I were playing Just Dance 3.  It's somewhat comical to watch them, but it's something they love - and I'm all about having them moving around and playing this game, as it's a real workout.  My husband was playing, too, but he put in the injunction that no one could choose "This Is Halloween" as he was sick of the song.  Instead, he chose.

As we danced to "Video Killed the Radio Star," I can see Mister Man's expression.  He's growing more and more puzzled about something, and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the video we're following as we dance....

Mister Man: Mommy, I wish I were an alien like that guy.
Me: Ummm, that's not an  alien, Sweetie.  That's a guy with a television for a head.
Mister Man: (giving me a weird look) Mommy, that is not a tv.
Me: Actually, it is. (because arguing like this with an eight year old is so effective)
Mister Man: If it's a television and not an alien, then why does he have antennae like an alien?

Wow, do I feel old.

And a few minutes later, he asked, "Mommy, who is Video, anyway?"

When did you first realize you were on the wrong side of a generation gap?

Los Angeles Doesn't Exist

So do you remember when I talked about how Mister Man's teacher didn't do the best job correcting his math homework? I let it go because Mister Man needs to learn that people in authority aren't always right, and really... in the grand scheme of things, it isn't that big a deal. He was fine with it, and I chalked it up to a bad teacher book, though it wasn't the first time it happened.

Last night, we received his Daily Five (little bits of practice work students spend 5 minutes working on each day in school) for the past week. As always, I looked through it to see what I need to work on with Mister Man. And my jaw dropped.

The possessive correction? Meh. Yes, it should be "Mr. Tyler's" but it was a little hard to see where he put the apostrophe. It almost looks like a comma for the sentence above instead of an apostrophe in the sentence he wrote. He needs to work on his penmanship, but fine motor skills are one of his challenges common amongst those with autism. That's part of why he's in private OT once a week.

Ditto with the correction of "two." I can see that he wrote two with a "w" and not just to, but the "w" is half into the o, so it's hard to see what he wrote unless you're really looking closely. Again, he needs to do a better job writing, and that's fine.

Sock? I totally get why he circled that answer. It's something that goes on your foot. It makes sense, but it's wrong. They're really looking for the more specific "footwear" answer, so sock was out. Categorization is also something that he struggles with sometimes due to his autism.

But ummm Los AngelOs? That's the one that threw me for a loop. Actually, it had me questioning my own spelling abilities. Maybe I've been spelling Los Angeles wrong for more than three decades (hush, I learned to write early).

Oh. Wait. I googled it. I haven't been spelling it wrong.

Less than two months left in the school year. Less than two months remaining. It's the mantra I keep repeating as I wait to hear whether or not Mister Man's petition to attend Little Miss's school is approved.

What are the words that throw you for a loop when you're writing?

How To Grow Your Child's Vocabulary

Last night, my husband peered over my shoulder and read some of the page of the book I was reading on my iP*d. I'll admit that right now I'm still a little miserable from the flu, so I'm reading complete and total brain candy that requires no concentration whatsoever. And of course the page I was reading happened to be an attempted seduction in a pretty clean otherwise historical fiction novel.

Oh, he said, looking at my with eyebrows raised. So this is the kind of stuff you read, is it?
Well, not really, I hemmed. You happened to catch a particularly salacious portion of it. It isn't usually-
I heard you, Mommy! I can hear what you're talking about! piped in Mister Man who was supposed to be falling asleep in his bedroom, granted only four feet from where I was still sitting on the steps after having put the wee ones to bed. What does "salacious" mean?
Mommy's reading a salacious book, Mister Man, my husband cheerfully started, as Mister Man giggled wildly at the word that for him was apparently so fun to say.
Sa-Layyyyy_schuss. Suhhhhh-laaaayyy-schuss! Salacious salacious salacious! he began singing and dancing in the hallway before I could usher him back to his room.

That's where I poked my husband in the side. You do realize that he's going to go into school tomorrow and announce to his teacher and probably the whole class that Mommy reads salacious books, right?

My husband simply nodded, grinning. I'm still waiting from the call from the teacher demanding an explanation. But hey... at least he learned a new word. Sort of.

I'm Right. No, I'm Right.

Education is important to my husband and I, and we try to impart that to the wee ones. For us, it isn't about the grades. While I want to know that the wee ones have given their best effort, I'm ok if that means they didn't get straight As. That said, I want to make sure that they understand the material - especially in the younger grades where what they learn is truly the foundation for everything else that's to come.

In that vein, we go over all the assignments and work and tests that come home. We go through what they did well - where they remembered some of the lessons they're being taught or where they did their best handwriting or where I can see that they checked their work and erased a wrong answer. And then we go through the parts that the teacher marked wrong to ensure that the wee ones understood what was done incorrectly.

I have to be extra careful with Mister Man, however. Not only does his Asperger's mean that he's extra sensitive, but his teacher isn't the best at grading. She'll miss problems that are clearly wrong, and sometimes she'll incorrectly mark a problem wrong that isn't. That drives me batty, but I do my best not to let it show.

When the wee ones do a problem wrong, I have them redo it, especially if it's something that they've gotten wrong on a regular basis or where they clearly haven't used their best efforts.

I came across this paper the other day where Mister Man had to measure an object and report its length to the nearest half centimeter. Apparently, Mister Man also has a very strict sense of right and wrong.

But I have to give him credit. When I went back and measured it myself, it is definitely 8 1/2 centimeters. And you know, it's not such a bad thing to teach him to stick to his guns, too.

How do you handle it when your child's teacher doesn't grade things correctly?

What Were You Planning To Name Me?

Names are powerful things. They define us even before someone meets us. A name should fit the person it's assigned to, which makes it really hard sometimes to name a baby properly. When I was naming the wee ones (and by "I," I do mean my husband and I since he had a say in it), I wanted a name that wasn't outlandish where people would look at me and wonder where I came up with it (thus Siobhan was out, much as I love that name) yet wasn't common enough where there would be three Jennifers or Michaels in their classes. If I were to go back in time, I would change Little Miss's name, as I failed miserably there - besides, knowing her personality now, she would make an awesome Evelyn or Eleanor. I'm still debating legally changing her name. In my head.

Talking about names and what we could have been named, the below conversation has me still cracking up:

Me: When I was born, Grandma was going to name me Freddie Dougie if I had been a boy (true story, I'm not making it up, and she was actually going to call me Freddie Dougie - thank goodness I was born a girl).
Mister Man: Really?
Me: Yep, and if your auntie had been born a boy, she was going to be Dougie Freddie (also a true story, and had we both been boys, we would have been Freddie Dougie and Dougie Freddie. Someone was looking out for us).
Mister Man: Cool!
My Husband: And if I had been born a girl, I would have been named Kimberly (at least his mom was reasonable in the name choice).
Little Miss: You don't look like Kimberly, Daddy.
My Husband: Nope.
Me: Thankfully, Daddy doesn't look like a Kimberly. I might not have married him if he did.
My Husband: Mister Man, do you know what we would have named you if you'd been a girl?
Mister Man: Huh?
My Husband: Had you been born a girl, you would have been named Kiersten Anabel (ok, so maybe it's a good thing he was born a boy although I still love the name Kiersten).
Mister Man: Kristen?
Me: No, Sweetie. Kieeeeerrrrrsten. And had Little Miss been born a boy, she was going to be James Spencer, and we were going to call her Jamie.
My Husband: Really? I thought we didn't have a name picked out it if had been a boy.
Me: (rolling my eyes) Ummm nope. We had a conversation on the way to the hospital. We had James picked out already but hadn't chosen a middle name but decided on Spencer as we were driving. Of course it didn't matter in the end anyway.
My Husband: Oh. Yeah. I remember that now.
Mister Man: Cool! So what were you going to name me if I had been born a boy?

I'm still not quite sure how to answer that question.

Wordless Wednesday - Calgon, Take Me Away

I'm so proud of Mister Man for making it to his white belt in tae kwon do - especially after the initial issues we had in class. He's pretty proud, too. After his first official class, he was presented with his uniform. He tried it on, and despite the suggestions from both me and the owner of the dojo that he take off his uniform after trying it on, he chose to wear it home.

When I took a look at it that night, it looked like this:

Why yes, he is actually that talented. No worries, though. That's what Oxyclean and Tide Stain Release are for, right? No, apparently this is some super fabric that absorbs stains like a sponge then refuses to let them go. Uh-oh.

I washed the uniform again on Monday - five classes into him wearing it - and again, not all the stains came out.

And this one? I don't even know what he was around that is that shade of yellow. And this is on the back, too. How does he do it?!

And in case you're wondering, this is one of the main reasons we wear white as little as possible. I have another Mass uniform shirt that I've given up on getting clean that's going into the trash today, too.

Calgon, take me away!

Wordless Wednesday: White Belt

I wrote last month about how Mister Man was struggling with his behavior associated with his autism. I was having a really bad day, but much of it was exemplified by his attempt to move up to the "big kid" class at Tae Kwon Do.

It turns out that we got a chance to try it out for the remainder of January to see how he did once he got more used to it - as he told me later that he was very excited and nervous. On February 1, the owner of the studio asked him if he wanted to have a white uniform, and he about passed out from happiness.

I officially have a white belt in the big kid class. Even better? At last night's class he earned his first white belt stripe (they do it only for white belts to help them know where and when they are progressing, with four stripes required before promotion is even a consideration).