Chicken and Sponge

Farewell...to return at a much later date.

No picture this time.  It has been so long since I posted, I wonder if anyone will actually read this.  Referring to actual, live humans, that is.  For a time I wanted to hold onto the blog because my site meter readings were way up.  Then I realized that it was spammers.  My first clue was Viagra commenting on my posts.  This continued along with furniture companies, baby product companies, but Viagra was my favorite.

This is my last post. So much has happened this past year:  sale of the bar fell through on three different occacions, a law suit, law suit dropped, debt, debt, and more debt, Sam falling through the cracks of the special education system (an on-going process and struggle), Mick and I finding work with non-profits for the developmentally disabled, Miranda's 15th birthday party/camping trip, the truck failing on us just this past Friday,...).  Really, it isn't that there isn't anything to write, but a lot of what is going on I just don't feel like sharing.  Not with the world anyway.  But my biggest obstacle is time.  As soon as I move to a planet where the days are 36 hours long, I'll be just fine.

So, I will continue to work on The Woman Who Fell Off The Edge of the World and hopefully will finish it in the next few months.  To anyone who enjoyed reading the excerpts, sorry I left you high and dry.  I hope you will get to see it in a book store in the next 18 to 24 months (that's how long it takes them to get a book out after buying the manuscript).

So we will be here, in our little corner of Dallas, Oregon, plugging away:  writing, gardening, Maybe one day in the future, Chicken and Sponge will return.  Thank you, Readers, you were great.  I gained so much.

Sam's Special Prom

Waiting for Mick to park the car, we wait outside The Majestic, site of the Dallas Special Ed prom, also known as the Spring Ball.

It was a Special Education Spring Ball.  This idea is long overdue.  Inclusion is a wonderful thing in theory, but in practice, kids with special needs can end up feeling like wallflowers, end of feeling like they'll never fit in and never belong.

The theme of the ball was "A Fairy Tale Ending" and this was truly a joyous event.  There were kids there without disabilities.  The peer tutors, who are great kids, not only did a lot of the work, but helped with the actual celebrating.  Half the crowd consisted of those of us who support these special needs kids:  parents, siblings, teachers, aides, and family friends.  It would have tortured and mortified the so-called "normal" kids.  Not so at this dance.

That's because these kids were dazzled by the decorations, the music, and their own transformations.  Whether you're a girl with a genius IQ, a popular cheerleader, a girl in a wheelchair, or a 13-year-old autistic girl, IT'S ALL ABOUT THE DRESS!

I won't go on and on (just for a change of pace), but Sam really had a good time.  She had the dress and got to wear her 3-inch pumps (which she can run and dance in).

What I loved about this dance was that it really was all about these kids and they were free and safe to b who they really are.  Which to the ignorant what they appear to be is a little weird.  To those of us who love them, they really are beautiful and special, in the best sense of the word.

Miranda, great daughter and sister that she is, came along too, as long as I was agreeable to her bringing the book that she is reading, and do you really think that I of all people would argue with that?  I keep a book in my purse for "just in case" moments.  And Miranda pulled her head out of the book several times to help Sam with this or that including getting her to quit lifting up her dress.

It was a sensory delight for Sam with all the beautiful fairytale-like decorations, loud music, soft lighting, and a disco ball.  In fact, for many of the kids with sensory issues, I imagine it was like a drug experience--and totally legal.

So she danced.  She ran across the dance floor dramatically and waved her arms.  She stared at herself in the wall of mirrors.  She ate all the cheese cubes off my plate that I had really been looking forward to.  Unlike the Mickey Mouse shaped chicken nuggets which I refuse to eat.  She played with the fake candle in the middle of the table for which I was thankful that the organizers were smart enough to leave real fire well enough alone.  Then she danced and ran a little more.

Then Sam started saying, "Cake?  Cake?"  But we'd seen no cake on the banquet table.  It wasn't long before Sam started saying, "Safeway store car fast?"  So we got up and began to make our good-byes.  Cupcakes arrived and were sent with us, but Sam was done.

One hour.  She'd lasted one hour which is what Mick had predicted.  So to Safeway we headed, to purchase cake (of course), wine (of course), and Avatar the movie ( a surprise), and then we headed home.

A successful first prom.

We never did manage to get this corsage pinned on, even though we spent a good ten minutes attempting and three of us tried.

Our girls.  Sam is delighted.  Miranda is reading.  But there you have it.
  

Pathetic and Abandoned for the Afternoon

When we returned from Newport, after visiting my parents and playing on the beach, we were later than normal returning home.  The dogs were so pathetic, wallowing on our old couch, that they didn't immediately run up to greet us.  Can we take a hint?

Are you back?  Reallly back?  Are we dreaming?  It's really you!  DO YOU REALIZE IT'S TWO HOURS PAST OUR DINNER TIME?

Grandparents at the Beach

The ocean in april at the Oregon Coast is quite cold--and no deterrent to Sam and Miranda.

Mick has been trying to work wih Sam at home since she has stopped going to school.  Work is progressing nicely, but I'll save most of that for another post.  Sam constantly surprises us with how much she actually knows.  I think it is a common problem that people often underestimate both the intelligence and skill of autistic people because of their communication glitches.  Because they don't tend to be people-pleasers, often don't look at you while you're talking, and won't do what you ask if there is nothing in it for them, people think the autistic person doesnt understand or doesn't know how to do something.  Well, think again.

One of the big goals for Sam, and it's been an IEP goal for a VERY long time is to be able to write her name, address, and phone number.  This would come in handy when she decides to sneak off on a walk and ends up in Michigan or decides to attend Mardi Gras but would like to come home.  So the two were working away.

"Sam, write your name," Mick instructed.

So Samantha wrote, "Go to the beach."

Because that is one of Sam's favorite places and that is what is important to Sam.  Not writing her name for the 6000th time.

Fortunately, Mick was able to say, "In two weeks.  Grandma and Grandpa will be here in two weeks and then we will go to the beach."

So Sam obliged and quickly scribbled her name.

Last weekend was THE weekend.  My parents were at their condo in Newport, Oregon where the ocean is trying to reclaim the property and my mother was upset by all the shoddy repair work that she thought she could do as good a job herself on (and she could, because if she was replastering, she would redo it until it was done right).  It's always a good time at the beach, but this particular Saturday was blustery.  Sunday was very nice, but we had written "Beach" on Saturday and there is no negotiating or compromise with an autistic kid--not unless we'd been willing to have one really crappy, unpleasant Saturday while she waited for Sunday to roll around.

Another thing about autistic kids, for anyone not very familiar with their ways, they are very rigid, latch onto routine like a ritual, and once you've done one thing in a certain environment, that is what they expect.  Believe me, this has its drawbacks.  For example:  you take the child to the doctor and they get a shot.  From that day forward that child never wants to set foot in that building again.  The weekend wasn't that stressful, but this tendency was brought home to us.

We go to the beach fairly regularly.  But we don't get the opportunity to go with my parents very often since they live 13 hours away.

So we met my parents at their condo, went inside for a bit and Sam started in on "to the beach...to the beach..."  So we got in our cars and drove to Nye Beach ( this is because in its bid to reclaim the land, the ocean has managed to reclaim all the beach access at the condo).

Then Sam and Miranda did their usual.  We walked along the beach and after a bit those two ran in.  They ran, they sat, the frolicked, and they shivered.  I took pictures and somehow managed to not get a one of my parents.  I also kicked myself because I'd intended on taking video and left that camera sitting at home and this adventure would have had great video.

Then we walke back to the car--blustery day, remember?  And the girls were soaked.  Miranda remembered to pack a bag for Sam, remembered to put it in the car, forgot to put underwear and a bra in the bag for her.  Oh, well.

When Sam was done frolicking in the water, she'd demanded, "Restaurant.  Resturant car fast."

So we did "restaurant car fast" right to Mo's where we had an excellent lunch.  From there, a new twist to our ritual, we went to an ice cream parlor because Grandpa loves ice cream and so do the rest of us.  Very good, and entertaining to boot.

Then Sam announced, "Swim?  Pool?"  Because there is a pool at the condo and that is what we did last time, so by God that is what we must do this time.  We'd known that and were prepared.  So we swam, we jacuzzied, we'd sauned.  Then we were done. 

Grandparents at the Beach: with an Autistic Twist

The ocean in april at the Oregon Coast is quite cold--and no deterrent to Sam and Miranda.

Mick has been trying to work with Sam at home since she has stopped going to school.  Work is progressing nicely, but I'll save most of that for another post.  Sam constantly surprises us with how much she actually knows.  I think it is a common problem that people often underestimate both the intelligence and skill of autistic people because of their communication glitches.  Because they don't tend to be people-pleasers, often don't look at you while you're talking, and won't do what you ask if there is nothing in it for them, people think the autistic person doesn't understand or doesn't know how to do something.  Well, think again.

One of the big goals for Sam, and it's been an IEP goal for a VERY long time is to be able to write her name, address, and phone number.  This would come in handy when she decides to sneak off on a walk and ends up in Michigan or decides to attend Mardi Gras but would like to come home.  So the two were working away.

"Sam, write your name," Mick instructed.

So Samantha wrote, "Go to the beach."

Because that is one of Sam's favorite places and that is what is important to Sam.  Not writing her name for the 6000th time.

Fortunately, Mick was able to say, "In two weeks.  Grandma and Grandpa will be here in two weeks and then we will go to the beach."

So Sam obliged and quickly scribbled her name.

Last weekend was THE weekend.  My parents were at their condo in Newport, Oregon where the ocean is trying to reclaim the property and my mother was upset by all the shoddy repair work that she thought she could do as good a job herself on (and she could, because if she was replastering, she would redo it until it was done right).  It's always a good time at the beach, but this particular Saturday was blustery.  Sunday was very nice, but we had written "Beach" on Saturday and there is no negotiating or compromise with an autistic kid--not unless we'd been willing to have one really crappy, unpleasant Saturday while she waited for Sunday to roll around.

Another thing about autistic kids, for anyone not very familiar with their ways, they are very rigid, latch onto routine like a ritual, and once you've done one thing in a certain environment, that is what they expect.  Believe me, this has its drawbacks.  For example:  you take the child to the doctor and they get a shot.  From that day forward that child never wants to set foot in that building again.  The weekend wasn't that stressful, but this tendency was brought home to us.

We go to the beach fairly regularly.  But we don't get the opportunity to go with my parents very often since they live 13 hours away.

So we met my parents at their condo, went inside for a bit and Sam started in on "to the beach...to the beach..."  So we got in our cars and drove to Nye Beach ( this is because in its bid to reclaim the land, the ocean has managed to reclaim all the beach access at the condo).

Then Sam and Miranda did their usual.  We walked along the beach and after a bit those two ran in.  They ran, they sat, the frolicked, and they shivered.  I took pictures and somehow managed to not get a one of my parents.  I also kicked myself because I'd intended on taking video and left that camera sitting at home and this adventure would have had great video.

Then we walked back to the car--blustery day, remember?  And the girls were soaked.  Miranda remembered to pack a bag for Sam, remembered to put it in the car, forgot to put underwear and a bra in the bag for her.  Oh, well.

When Sam was done frolicking in the water, she'd demanded, "Restaurant.  Restaurant car fast."

So we did "restaurant car fast" right to Mo's where we had an excellent lunch.  From there, a new twist to our ritual, we went to an ice cream parlor because Grandpa loves ice cream and so do the rest of us.  Very good, and entertaining to boot.

Then Sam announced, "Swim?  Pool?"  Because there is a pool at the condo and that is what we did last time, so by God that is what we must do this time.  We'd known that and were prepared.  So we swam, we jacuzzied, we'd sauned.  Then we were done.  So we went home.

My parents came over Tuesday afternoon to visit.  They had wanted to get there before Mick went to work.  Unfortunately they'd had a phone call while driving and ended up in McMinnville instead of Dallas.  I beat them to my house.

They took me and the kids out for dinner ( Sam, "noodles...noodles...NOODLES.")  We had a good dinner, a nice, leisurely visit, and then went back to our house for  bit.

Sam had a big smile, sat on the love seat and said, "Presents!  Presents!"  And my mom felt terrible because there were no presents.  No presents?

Last time they had been here was October.  Sam's birthday is in October and my mom had had some fancy dolls that she'd got at church.  She'd wrapped them and brought them along.  So Sam had had a present, a very cool present, and now she wanted another cool present.

We explained that there were no presents.  Sam got up, left the room, and closed her bedroom door.  No presents.

My mom felt bad.  Told her not to.  Sam usually gets her way, but not always.  She'll push it, she'll play you, she's going to see how much she can get of what she wants.  But if there are no presents, then she would rather go do whatever she feels like doing, because sitting in the living room and visiting people who have no presents is not at the top of her list of interests.

And so it goes.  I have no idea about next time.  But we have awhile before we need to worry about it. Presents? Presents?

Strange Families, part 1

One Saturday in the park.  That blob on the right is Miranda, who is no longer cooperating for photos.

You'd think she was unloved because of the scarcity of pictures I use of her.  That, and the fact that I talk about her sister Sam so much more.  Nothing could be further from the truth because Miranda is like a life line for me.  However, out of respect for her privacy, not to mention her lack of cooperation, my writing focuses more on Samantha than on Miranda.  She likes it that way.  
 
 Sam doesn't care.  Being mostly unaware of my writing, she doesn't get a say.  Plus, people who are older than five and will run outside stark naked don't get to plead modesty or self-consciousness.

So out of the blue the other day, Miranda blurts out, "We are a strange family!"

"Well...yes," I replied.  

We are.  I know it.  I'm not comfortable with just anyone coming into our home and observing our strangeness.  Some people I don't mind, those people who take everything in stride and don't judge.

Speaking of strange, Mick is recording a play-off game, Blazers and the Suns, that he may watch at midnight when he gets home.  That has thrown off our Thursday night DVR schedule, which is the busiest night of the week:  Vampire Diaries, Bones, and the Project Runway finale.  When my mother reads this she'll think, What?

Anyway, Miranda decided that the only thing to do was watch Bones in my room, in my bed.  Sam was there, too, and I was getting ready to (at long last) take a shower and get in my pajamas ( Thursday?  Today is only Thursday?  I long for Fridays.)  So I laid down on the bed with the girls for a few minutes, half-undressed because I truly was on my way to the shower.

Sam and Miranda were kind of cuddling and I joined in.  Sam loves to be tickled and because of her sensory issues, she likes to mess with people.  Yes, I know that's vague, but her messing with a person ranges from squeezing a butt cheek to sticking her eyeball against the other person's eyeball.  I was stretching a little as we lay there and touched the bottom of my foot.

"We have to get that hot tub fixed again," I said, "my callouses on my feet are getting out of control."  I picked at my foot for a minute and then said, "Hey, Sam, pick Mommy's callous off."  And I held my foot out to her.

She picked up my foot with great interest and focused immediately on the problem area and began to pick with great skill.  Picking is, after all, her area of expertise.  

Miranda and I continued to chat until, "AAARRRGH!  Sam, don't bite my foot!"  From the corner of my eye I see her mouth grinning around my foot, then she releases it, spits callous into my bed and giggles.

Miranda is beside herself, laughing until no sound emerges.  I join in.  My foot throbs  little.   My dental floss dropped somewhere in that bed.  Mick will probably discover it tonight.

Just another night.

More of the Same

That is a huge stock of broccoli hanging out of Zeus's mouth. Upon discovering him with his head in the cat box, mouth chewing away, I yelled at him and banished him to the outdoors (for a few minutes).  After which he made a visit to the compost bin and found this breath freshener.

 

What was I whining about the last time I was here?  Could it have been cat puke?  On freshly shampooed carpets?  Sports-obsessed husbands?  Daughters who have the time to watch everything on the DVR list but who have important homework on the weekend and don't have the time to help with any household chores?  Perhaps it was autistic children who pee in garbage cans rather than toilets and who shred clothing like crazy.  I might have been whining about fleas, but no, those were re-discovered on the dogs last weekend which changed all plans for Sunday.  We hope those fleas have finally been eradicated.  That's what we get for being cheap--four months of fleas.

I sit behind a pile of partially folded laundry, hoping to keep my mini notebook a secret from Sam, and damn!  She caught me.  She saw it.  I sure hope this thing is as small as I think it is.  Yes, everything is status quo i.e. the normal chaos at my house.

A Visit to the Doctor With Our Autistic Child: What to do When Their Behavior Changes

Last weekend in Dallas City Park.  Sam loves to swing.  Miranda was dodging the camera. 

 

It took about a month to get the appointment, but last Thursday Samantha had a doctor's appointment.  She hadn't been to a doctor since I had to do an emergency fly-in to Juneau a couple of summers ago to get the end of a Q-tip removed from deep in her ear.  "Ear balls" she'd called them.  And she had kept using Q-tips to try to remove the "ear ball", thereby pushing it deeper and deeper into the ear canal.  That was an $800 trip for ten minutes in the doctor's exam room, most of that time spent talking about fishing and Southeast Alaska.

Last Thursday's visit ( Thursday evening, to be more accurate, and one reason why I love this particular clinic--open until 8:30 pm for appointments and on Saturdays, making these visits much easier on working parents and kids who decide to get sick after 5:00 pm),  was productive.  And hopeful.  Now there is bad news, but it depends on how one processes these things.

Mick and I have talked and written extensively about Sam refusing to go to school and how little we can really do about it.  She is big and strong.  She's a lot less reluctant to make a huge scene than the average person.  She won't hesitate to rip off her clothing in order to stay home.  In other words, when Sam decides she's not going somewhere, there really isn't anything we can do to make her.  Which is why she has only gone to school for two weeks since Christmas Break.

So we've asked ourselves, "Why?  Why?  Oh, please, WHY??????  And what can we do about it?"

Maybe we should have answered the "why" first.  But it's important for kids to go to school, even autistic kids.  Of course the main obstacle to this problem is part and parcel of autism itself:  the inability to communicate effectively.  Simply, she couldn't tell us what was wrong.

So we guess.  We look for clues.  All parents of autistic kids go through this.  They can't tell you where it hurts.  They can't tell you if they are scared or nervous or anxious or if th class room lights bother their eyes or the furnace hurts their ears or what.  Asperger kids, maybe, but even they have communication challenges.  Plus, Sam doesn't have Aspergers.  She is definitely autistic.

We knew she had had difficulty with the numerous changes in her life this year.  Mick and I going to work outside the home is a big deal.  Her dad being the one taking care of her during the day with me gone is a huge change, though one they have both adapted to and have grown closer because of it.

Changes at school, not all of them pleasant.  A bit of trauma and the problem with that, she couldn't tell us just how significant that trauma was to her.  Yes, people make mistakes and I think quite a few people from the school felt some regret and even remorse for mistakes make with Sam.  And frankly, autistic people aren't very forgiving of mistakes.  At least Sam isn't.  Great memory, too, which doesn't help the situation.

So we kept focusing on strategies to get her re-interested and re-motivated in school.

It didn't work.

What we forgot, and I'm not sure why, perhaps blinded by guilt and the numerous changes and challenges Sam has faced this year, we forgot that behavioral changes are OFTEN a sign that something medical is going on. That is how our autistic people tell us.  They change their behavior.

So I wasn't surprised, no, I wasn't surprised at all, when the doctor told me her strong suspicions.  We had talked at length.  I had told her all my concerns and had described everything that had been going on in Sam's life.  I had talked about her weight being our biggest concern.  We'd talked about her irregular periods, her lying around in bed a great deal, but dancing and going for long walks as well.  We had talked about mood swings, her absolute refusal to allow anyone to stick a needle into her.  We talked about the difficulty with dentistry, hearing tests, etc., etc.

In fact, the only way to give Sam a thorough medical exam is to knock her out, put her under.

So that is what we're going to do, once the doctor gets everyone coordinated.

"Do you think she'll let me listen to her heart and lungs?" the doctor asked after our long conversation. 

I looked over at Sam who was lying on the exam table examining herself in the mirror, making faces at herself and really enjoying herself.

"Sure," I said.

Sam did let her.  It was very cute because Sam was trying to do those things she thinks a patient is supposed to do, those things she has seen on TV.

The doctor stopped and turned to me.  "I think we're there," she said.

"What do you  mean?" I asked.

"I think we're there.  I think I can go ahead and arrange to have her put under at Day Surgery and I'll just have to work on coordinating everyone so we can get as much done as possible, but I think...you know how the skin on Sam's neck is velvety?"

"Yeah, the skin there is really weird, kind of layered."

"Yeah, that and the patch of soft hair on her chest and chin, those are strong indications of Type 2 Diabetes.  I think we are there."

"Oh."  I digested this for a moment.  "Hey, do you think that that is enough to, well, make her not want to go to school?"

"Do I think it could make her feel just cruddy enough that she hasn't wanted to go?  Oh, yeah!  Yes, I do."

"Ah, I see."

And I do.  Things are falling into place.

[I MUST DIGRESS:  JUST WROTE FOR 40 MINUTES ONLY TO LOSE EVERYTHING THROUGH AUTOMATIC UPDATES AND OTHER CRAP. CRAP CRAP CRAP!]

So now I’m going to speed things up before it happens again.  Actually, it’s been that kind of a day.

Mick had worked that night and i became aware of him at 2:00 a.m. o i just groaned, rolled over and went back to sleep.  I called him from the relative privacy of the bathroom th next day at work and filled him in on the appointment.

He wasn’t surprised either, but expressed a lot of regret and disgust with us for allowing things to reach this state.  I don’t disagree, but I don’t want to waste time on should-haves.  It’s time for action.

So there are locks on the refrigerator and cupboard.  Annoying, yes, but we’ll get used to it.  I’m used ot this set-up from work and feel that it is necessary.  I’m hoping that the inconvenience will keep me from grazing so much, too.  Sam tried to cut off the lock with a pair of scissors, but after a lack of success, she gave up and seem ok with everything.

Our respite worker, Anusha, is being paid by another program through the county to help Sam where school is concerned and is taking her out into the community at this point. 

Eventually, Sam will return to the classroom, I’m sure.  In the meantime, I will try to chronicle our journey.  It will be a family adventure.  Hopefully we will all benefit.

 

Whine and You Shall Receive

So Mick said, "No excuses now."  Meaning, no excuses for not finishing the novel, no excuses for not blogging.  Funny I can still think of some, but I do have much less to whine about because I got what I really wanted:  a mini laptop... or notebook, I guess is the more accurate term.

Mick was initially against the idea of anything this small.  I think because he tried to imagine his hands typing on it and his eyes squinting at the screen, but he was clear: this one is mine and mine alone.  The screen would give him problems, though since he uses the hunt and peck method of typing, he would actually have less trouble than I.  However, I got a little toshiba something or other and the keys are actually spaced and raised and so far, I love it.

Sadly, when we arrived back home after this little shopping excursion, Mick's laptop finally bit the dust.  This was no surprise.  The surprise was that it lasted as long as it did. I'm not exaggerating when I say that pieces of the computer were actually falling off of it.  Yet even after a piece on the side fell off and refused to reattach, and even though it appeared to have a little electronic gizmo in it, it still worked.  Huh?

Death by Sam was the actual cause of its demise, a slow painful death.  Dropped on its head many times, screen sprung, scratches, and of course, bits falling off.

The advantage to my mini, and one of the main reasons I wanted one, besides the light weight and easy portability, is that it will be much easier to hide.

So I was really excited because I've been taking one of the individuals from the group home to her employment and having to hang out in Salem and wait for her ( cheaper than wasting the gas going back and forth) so I thought  " what an excellent opportunity to write".

Well I was wrong.  That would have been too good to be true.  That falls under someone else's job description just as my job is doing alternatives to employment with a different individual.  So I was dropping this young woman off at her employment then coming out to the Lancaster Mall and hanging out at Starbucks.  Watching all the elderly people mall-walking, then meeting friends for coffee (the mall-walkers, not me).  Business people, too, meet at the mall before any of the shops ( save Starbucks and the food court) open and conduct little business meetings.  This is a strange little sub-culture, kind of cozy, intimate, and vaguely fascinating.  This is an alternative to bars but probably not a good place to meet men unless you're around 75 or 80, and then frankly, the competition would be fierce.  Lots of ladies and those men who are not already attached at the hip are much in demand.

Not that I have to worry about that.  Mick has to outlive me or he already knows he will spend the rest of my life in an urn on the fireplace mantle listening to me yak at him.  ( I plan on saying "I told you so" about everything.  Why not?  I tried to not nag him in life, but what could he do about it in that condition? And  I could actually speak without interruption). So obviously, it would behoove him to outlive me.  Digressing?  Me? 

I would love to be able to sit here and observe people every day, but it is not to be.  I will be once again, trying to write at home after work.  I will be hiding my little mini laptop from Sam as well, writing on the sly.

I've much to tell you.  Stay tuned.  I'm back.

I'm sure you've noticed the different size and style of font.  Bear with me.  I'm still getting used to this thing.

Well it finally happened and Vick has a new little laptop. After trying to use that old piece of crap I gave up and decided if anyone was going to read anything from her she would need a new computer. Since then I have hooked up our other one and got it running fine. I figured there couldn't be to much wrong with it so I chatted with tech support and got it up and running. Probably could have happened sooner if we weren't so un-tech savvy. So hopefully you will get daily blogs and once in a while novel updates.
Sam is right at this moment watching Monsters Inc. She just woke up so I will give her a chance to get good and awake before I start to try and do some schooling with her. If I can get her to read me a book and do some vacuuming, I will consider it a success today. Baby steps,baby steps,baby steps. She actually is much smarter than most people think and with a little positive encouragement I think she will be able to funtion in society just fine. So I better sign off now and get to it. I will let my better half do the detail writing. Sorry no pics. Will have some ready soon. Have a great day everyone!