Happy New Year!

A short post here, I promise. After all, I need to get ready for our big New Year's Eve celebration -- a "family fun night" at our health club. (My, how parenthood changes things.)

But to start the new year off right, I wanted to link to a couple of fun blogs that gave me a sometimes rather embarrassing view of ... myself. You've probably heard of "Stuff White People Like," which a friend sent me a link to many months ago. (If you click on that link, be sure to then click on the full list of Stuff White People Like.) It was so funny I kept reading and reading, nearly missing my yoga class (No. 15 on the list) and at one point almost snorting out my coffee (No. 1). This was shortly after my breakfast of organic foods (No. 6). I had recently finished a book by David Sedaris (No. 25). And, of course, I voted for Barack Obama (No. 8). If you know me at all, and read this list, you will see that I'm so white, I'm practically translucent. Which explains why such a large chunk of my summertime paychecks goes to sunscreen.

The whole "Stuff White People Like" theme has become something of a franchise, which now includes "Stuff Journalists Like." It has a depressingly familiar theme -- the list includes low pay (makes us feel noble), working holidays (makes us feel superior to the lazy masses) and even layoffs (which have the eventual result of getting us into jobs with higher pay and holidays off). It also includes a number of items in common with "Stuff White People Like," but on the journalists' list, Obama is, appropriately, No. 44. It even includes "year in review" stories, which you're no doubt sick of by now. But there is an explanation for them. You'll just have to read it for yourself.

I like these sites enough that I'm adding them to my meager little blogroll. So anytime you need a laugh at the expense of white people or journalists, you can just come here!

"We don't want another Oswald!"

For those of us of a certain age, that phrase, yelled by a hysterical radio newsman amidst the chaos of Robert Kennedy's shooting, will always conjure up sad memories of two brothers dying way too soon, when they still had so much to give to our country.

In our household, that phrase now means something completely different. On the cable station Noggin, there is an old Nick program (for any parents out there, I'm sure you have those cable station numbers memorized!) about a blue octopus who always wears a black derby and lives in "Big City." He shares his apartment with a dachshund named Weenie who wears a hot dog bun as a coat. His closest friend is a penguin who always has to read the daily paper, can never deviate from what he has planned for that day and will never try new foods. (No, his name is not Sarah, although she should demand some sort of royalty from the creators.) There are many other characters on the show, among them:

A flower who roller skates everywhere who would best be described as ditsy

A pair of eggs who speak with English accents

A snowman who is the local ice cream man

"Madam Butterfly" and her baby daughter, Katrina (a caterpillar) who runs the local diner

A rabbit who seems to own and work in every store in town

and "Pongo," a friendly dragon

Elijah has become addicted to this program, and because our cable provider has DVR as part of its service, we have recorded almost every episode. To aid us in finding what Elijah wants to watch, I have listed days and show titles on a cheat sheet for reference. So when little guy asks to see the "Chasing the Ice Cream Truck" episode, I can get it for him without going through 30 different shows, and all the trauma that may bring.

The connection of all this to the title quote of this posting? The octopus' name is OSWALD, and after a morning of watching two or three of these shows (each containing two stories) the quote I mentioned earlier takes on a completely different meaning in our home, and becomes Sarah's and my mantra. Yet I really can't complain because now, whenever I hear the name Oswald, my only thought will be of the sweet character below (drawing by Elijah).

A beautiful mind

For those who wonder how the brain of a child on the autism spectrum functions, I believe Elijah has given a classic example. In between drawing basketball goals and numerous buildings and coloring butterflies, he wrote down random words that were going through his head, all with the speed of a reporter on deadline:

With all this going on in his mind, along with memorizing countless songs and entire scripts from TV programs, is it any wonder he can't remember to pick up his toys when he's done with them? Or that just Daddy making excuses for his "little guy"? I know where Sarah comes down in that discussion!

Yes, it's still Jeff and Sarah!

We're getting ready to jump into 2009 with some minor changes to our blog, including the title. (The address remains the same.)

Using our first names was so uncreative it was pathetic. I'm not saying that the solution you see above is brilliant -- especially since this template won't let me uppercase what I want to uppercase (a painful thing for a copy editor). But our new title certainly describes our approaches to life, particularly parenting: I'm the mom who doesn't go for organized youth sports, time-outs, baking, arts and crafts or entire days spent entertaining my offspring and driving him from activity to activity. I actually think boredom is GOOD for kids. Trust me, this puts me WAY OUT into odd territory.

And Jeff is, hands-down, the world's most even-tempered dad.

Perhaps I'll get around to making this site more splashy as the year goes on. At the very least, I plan to add quite a few links to sites Jeff and I like (some blogs, some not), as well as more photos. Improving my Web design and editing skills is my personal goal for 2009, not to mention my only chance for professional survival.

We had a fun little Christmas at our house, and it turns out that Santa came through with the basketball goal request -- in his own way. More on that later.

It's Top 10 time!

Well, it's actually two Top 5 lists. I'm trying to update this blog more often but am too lazy to do those long posts all the time (you can thank me now!)

Top 5 things I hate about winter:
5. All that yucky mud and salt and dirt covering my car and eating away at the undercarriage.
4. No flowers, leaves or green grass in sight. For month after month after month.
3. Leaving my desk exhausted at midnight, going outside and finding that a 20-minute ice-scraping job awaits before I can start the half-hour drive home.
2. That sinking feeling as I try to start the car in subzero temperatures, with my (painfully frozen) fingers crossed in hopes that the engine will, indeed, eventually come to life. And then trying to coax the frozen steering wheel to turn and the stick shift to shift.
1. That blast of cold air whistling through the crack between the door and the frame and chilling the entire downstairs because when last I thought about weatherstripping, it was when I happened to notice, on a 103-degree day in July, that it was all peeling off. Must get that fixed before winter, I told myself.


Top 5 things I love about winter:
5. Watching big, beautiful snowflakes transform the world into a quiet, pristine and glittering landscape that no Hallmark card can even begin to replicate.
4. Bundling up with Elijah, layer after natural-fiber layer, so we can go out to the backyard to make snow angels and sled down the hill.
3. Snow ice cream!
2. Curling up with a good book or a glass of wine (or both!) in front of a roaring fireplace on a cold, dark night. Might even have a few freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies, while I'm being indulgent.
1. Dreaming of a white Christmas -- and watching that dream come true with my little boy!

If Hanukah Harry falls in the forest and nobody is there, will he still say, "Oy Vey"?

For those of you who think that we have had too many crises this past year (Iraq, financial meltdown, unemployment creeping into everyone's life, Bristol Palin's future mother-in- law busted for operating a meth lab) there is one more that every Jewish parent faces this time of year....the dreaded "December Dilemma".

This is the problem of explaining to our child why instead of having a festive tree, singing spiritual songs, waiting up all night to catch a glimpse of Santa and having a gaudy light display in front of our house, we instead light cheap wax candles, eat chocolate money and wonder why two of the biggest selling Christmas albums of all time are by Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond.

Of course in our home, this really isn't a problem. I have seen photos of me as a child with our family gathered around a "Hanukah bush" and heard stories from my parents of my brother, sister and myself sitting on Santa's lap. Furthermore, because of my spouse's love of Christmas, a decorated tree has been part of our home for many years (as has a lit menorah and mezuzah), which fortunately has not led to my being asked to leave the Temple during Yom Kippur services.

But the real reason this is not a problem in our home is that Elijah doesn't care what the occasion is as long as he gets presents and chocolate-chip cookie dough or Hanukah gelt (chocolate money). For the last few years he has shown some (but not a lot) of interest in lighting the menorah, only because he knew chocolate was part of the equation. And Christmas had even less significance to him, as no chocolate was involved.

This year, things are different. Elijah really wanted to help decorate the tree and has been talking about Santa Claus and what he wants him to bring for Christmas (as an earlier post noted, basketball goals were high on the list). He also has been reading "Blue's Clues Hanukah Party" every day (for the record, Blue is not Jewish -- the party is at his friend Orange Kitty's house), so it really does feel like a holiday season around the house.

However, some confusion has crept into this festive time. Elijah has wanted a book he saw at Barnes and Noble, so we told him to ask Santa for it, which he did the following day. (Our health club had a Santa this past weekend). Unfortunately, he couldn't comprehend the idea that Christmas was still a few days away, so Santa couldn't bring him the book till then. This did not sit well with our impatient son. Then we realized that the first night of Hanukah was upon us and we could give him the book, which we did, bringing a wide smile to his face.

Did you follow that? We told Elijah to ask Santa for a gift, that he then received on the first night of Hanukah. This cosmic shift in the religious world that took place could only be described as monumental. Alas, our literal little lad knows the truth all too well. As soon as he asked Santa for the book he wanted he turned to me and said, "Daddy and Elijah to go to Barnes and Noble and get Lots of Dots" (the book in question). So much for the Santa mystique.

Still, it is great to see him excited about the holidays, and the happiness he exudes for both Hanukah and Christmas truly brings joy to our world.

You can't always get what you want

It's that time of year again, when the newspapers (Ooops! I meant Web sites! Everyone knows newspapers are, as Jon Stewart says, "Black and white and totally over.") are filled with tales of families struggling with how to tell children that Santa might not be able to make a visit this year.

As a mother, these stories tug at my heartstrings (yes, despite my cynicism in many areas of life, I do have heartstrings capable of being tugged). And this year, of course, there are more such stories than usual. But sometimes, those stories aren't quite as sad as they seem at first glance.

Take our house, for example. In a miracle that makes the Chanukah oil thing look like child's play, it turns out that both Jeff and I still have jobs, at least for the time being. So Santa will indeed be visiting this year (how about THAT for a multicultural paragraph? If only I could figure out a way to work in references to Kwanzaa, Diwili and Ramadan ...).

However, like many children who are far less fortunate than him, Elijah will NOT be getting the gifts dearest to his heart. This is not because Santa is being Scrooge-y this year, but because Elijah's requests for the Jolly Old Elf are -- how shall I put this? -- absurd.

There was a time, as recently as a year ago, when I thought Elijah would never understand the Santa concept. Kids with autism are very literal and generally do not have great imaginations, so abstract concepts are lost on them. Whether it's God or the Tooth Fairy or Santa, if they can't see it, it doesn't exist. So after about three or four years of trying to get Elijah excited about Christmas and reindeer and gifts and such, I had pretty much given up.

You've probably guessed the flaw in my thinking: Of COURSE you can see Santa! He's right here, in the newspaper ad (I mean, on the Web), on television, at the mall, etc. And finally, Elijah has taken notice:

"Santa can bring a basketball goal!"

I groan, having long ago grown weary of his obsession with basketball goals. It began when he was barely a year old, and it took us six months to figure out that "ba-ba cone" meant "basketball goal." By age 3, he had counted the 22 (he was an unusually early counter) basketball goals on driveways between our house and preschool. By 4, he was drawing pictures of them day in and day out. Even pictures of other subjects nearly always included a basketball goal (that's it right there, weaving its way up between the two figures on the right):




And by 5, he was pointing out the various styles and colors of backboards, nets, poles, brackets and countless accessories that I never knew existed.

Mind you, he does not play basketball. Has no interest whatsoever in it (or any other sport). He'll watch basketball on TV, but only because he's waiting for those glorious closeups of the ball going into (his heart flutters!) THE GOAL!

So his request to Santa was not altogether unexpected. Of course, he already has several of the coveted objects -- two of the little door-hanging kind that he has dragged around the house (even to bed) until they've fallen apart, plus a plastic adjustable outdoor one.

But is this enough? No! My little boy, who I never thought would "get" Christmas or Santa, wants more (after all, what is Santa really about, if not... "more"?). At last count we were up to "Santa can bring EIGHT basketball goals! Santa can bring eight BIG basketball goals! Black and red ones! And brown." And, lest I try to pull the "where would Santa get them?" routine: "Santa can get them at Target!"

This is the problem with kids who think literally. That elf-staffed toy factory at the North Pole doesn't seize their imaginations nearly to the extent that Target does. Or Dick's Sporting Goods, where great big black-and-red basketball goals can be had for a mere $500 each.

So I explain to Elijah that no, Santa is not going to bring $4,000 worth of basketball goals to a little boy who flatly refuses to play basketball. Undauted, he writes the following:

So, here we are, a week before Christmas, a pile of toys in an upstairs closet waiting to be wrapped, with the probability of a very disappointed little boy on Christmas morning. As I have attempted to explain to Jeff, this is one of those Important Life Lessons that his generation knows as the lyrics to a Rolling Stones song.

Meanwhile, I try to remember the lesson in those lyrics when I think back to Elijah's comment after I explained the situation involving the cost of EIGHT basketball goals:

"Mom and Dad need to get some MONEY!"

Mom, the Ultimate Party Pooper

Let me start out by saying that I have never claimed to be a fun person.

I'm not terribly energetic, for one thing, and I have never been particularly spontaneous. For example, if you decide you'd like to meet me for lunch (not that you would), you can't just call and say, "Hey, Sarah, how about lunch today?" That would totally freak me out, because it is NOT ON MY CALENDAR FOR TODAY. And if things are not on my calendar, I tend to hyperventilate when someone suggests them. Most days of my calendar are filled out weeks in advance, so if you would like to have lunch sometime in January, by all means send me an e-mail as soon as possible! I would love to pencil you in. (Yes, my calendar is actually on paper, not on a BlackBerry or iPhone. I can barely figure out how to update this blog, so give me a break here!)

The only truly out-of-character spontaneity I have ever experienced -- and this is a big one -- was a spur-of-the moment, four-hour middle-of-the-night road trip to Memphis, Tenn., in October 1993. One of my traveling companions who's been at this blogging thing much longer than I have wrote a better description of it than I ever could, and he just posted a comment with the news that it is right here.

Anyway, this is all a very long-winded way to say that I am not one of those fun moms you read about in magazines and newspapers (often in the police blotter, I might add). I have certain ideas about the way any given day should unfold, and those ideas include sitting together as a family at the dinner table.

Until recently, I was under the impression that the two males who share my household were on board with this. But since my shift to part-time work, which puts me at home three entire evenings a week -- and all in a row, no less! -- it has become increasingly clear that eating dinner at the kitchen table, or even in the kitchen, has not been the standard operating procedure these past few years. They were able to pull it together enough to put on the act for Mom two nights a week, but it all fell apart when the act was required for three full nights.

Although he's a kid of few words, Elijah can communicate quite a bit with those few words.

"Mom should go to work!" he declared one night at the dinner table shortly after my schedule change. He's repeated this request, with increasing desperation, week after week. Clearly, things are much more fun when Mom is at work, which pretty much confirms the suspicion I've had the past five years that when I'm away, the inmate runs the asylum.

To Jeff's credit, the inmate does actually eat more nutritious foods when he is not forced to endure the indignity of sitting at a table. Jeff literally follows him around the house with a bowl of broccoli, or carrots, or chicken (but never all three at once -- they might TOUCH, and therefore contaminate one another). He puts food into Elijah's mouth, just like spoon-feeding a baby, while they watch TV, dance to YouTube videos, draw or play with TinkerToys. Enormous meals are consumed in this manner, night after night.

By contrast, meals with Mom the Merciless generally involve all courses being placed on the same plate at the same time (leading to countless cross-contamination possibilities) and plopped down in front of him at the table, along with the appropriate utensils.

That's it. No music. No dancing. No toys or crayons or videos. No promises of post-dinner ice cream as a bargaining chip to encourage broccoli consumption. And, perhaps worst of all, no games involving bodily noises.

So the whining begins, and eventually Jeff takes over while I resign myself to another evening of irrelevance. I finish my dinner, then try to keep myself busy while the two of them wander through the house completing Elijah's dinner. After a rollicking YouTube video dance jam at what I consider ear-splitting decibel levels, it's bath and bedtime, which Elijah does allow me to be involved in, but only if Jeff reads him his final bedtime story.

One of these days, I'll share the grisly story of his birth, and perhaps he'll appreciate me just a bit more.

But just to be on the safe side, I'll give him big bowl of ice cream, too.