and then we were free (updated, with polka dots)

Or, if you prefer, 3.

On Tuesday, the Toddles has his birthday. Every year, I try to take a few loving photos of my offspring on their birthday. Last year, I caught some lovely black and white shots of a thoughtful, then uproariously laughing Toddles. Perfection! This year, I tried again - but all I managed was this:

Poor kid, he ran a fever of 102 the day before his birthday, 103.5 on his birthday, and then a sedate 101 the day after. Which is the number-heavy way of saying that, come his happy happy day, the kid was toast. He put his dad's sweatshirt on, curled his arms inside it, and stood there, puzzled as to what had happened to him.

We'd planned a quiet day, and a quiet celebration with QG and ourselves. The Toddles chose his birthday menu: Mary Jr's Painted Rooster (rooster separate from the paint, please), corn on the cob, salad and birfday cake. The Toddles paused here to hold a long and slightly incoherent conversation with his overalls. Birfday cake with green and blue polka dots, he corrected himself. The overalls nodded approvingly. I added a bowl of pickles, tucked Thai basil into the paint, and decreed myself happy.

Which made one of us.

All day long, the kid collapsed in tears. He didn't want milk, he wanted water. He didn't want to wear sandals, he wanted his far too small sneakers. He didn't want to lie down, he wantzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. By the end of the day, the child was wringing wet, I had been used as a tissue so often that I was tempted to throw myself out, and he couldn't decide if he wanted to be held or if he...wanted to be held. Um.

Oh, but it was an absolutely delightful day, with a chaser of good cheer.

That night, eyeing the Toddles wailing in a random corner over something incomprehensible, we started dinner with birfday cake. The Toddles bounced over, blew out his candle, licked the polka dots off the cupcake, and chattered his way through the rest of the dinner.

Should we have been surprised? Indeed, we were not. There is one truth about our lad there, and that is his resilience. Given a chance, a breather and a hug, the Toddles will bounce back. Sunshine and fire and love, with a dash of giggles, I said last year, and oh but it is still true. His sense of humor may have ripened slightly towards the bucket-on-the-head style, but he's deliciously fun when he's not driving one to drink. Bounce, bounce, bounce, joy, arrgh. Which is just as he needs to be. Right now, the Toddles is drawing heavily on his store of bounce to adapt to the changes in his life: just over a week ago, we said a sad goodbye to QG and a nervous hello to preschool.

Our QG days have been a real blessing. Like Mary Jr before her, she slid into place like the family member we hadn't realized we were missing. She's been a source of hugs, a listening ear, a helping hand and, oh yes, she also did things for the kidlet. Generously, QG fell in love with the Toddles (which, I know, only shows good sense, but still), and then spread her affection to the Eldest, and even to Bom. We all bloomed under her care, and we'll miss our regular doses.

A sharp judge of character, the Toddles liked her immediately upon meeting her, and talked about her constantly until she started coming regularly. Now, he asks after her wistfully, puzzled by her absence. I'm puzzled too, kid. Still, I want my backpack, the Toddles informed me, I'm going to peeschool. Bag on his determined little back, he went off to put on his shoes. (If only he did this when it was actually time to go, but still. I'll take the rehearsal with a grain of hope.)

Happy birthday, Toddles. It's going to be a big year for a small person, but we'll do our best to pack it with love. The joy, we suspect, you are going to discover on your own.
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Since you asked, here's a terrible picture of the polka dot cupcakes:
We colored the icing green and blue, and then I first squirted dots of one color, and then filled in, kind of, with the other color. Cake decorating is not my forte, and this was just about at my limit.

And, following up on my Palin bashing, here's snopes.com on the subject of Palin and book banning. Because, if you are going to slam a candidate, it's important to do it correctly. Of course, Jeff Jacoby in the Boston Globe says we're all wrong, and we should stop telling Palin stories. I agree, as it happens: less Palin, more talking about actual plans to fix things.

Dow Jones, anyone?

choosing my advocate

In case you were wondering, I'm amazingly unimpressed by Palin. Did you expect anything else?
I'm not going to bother with her here, but I'll run you through the short version. Nice to see a woman on a ticket (again), nice to see a mom on the ticket, although I could do without the Bush deja vu that she's inspiring.

More relevant to me - and to the blog is that she's also a new special needs mom, and is offering to be my advocate in the White House. Okay, pause for a brief inhale and exhale.

It's a sweet offer, but can I say no thanks? She has a four month old baby with a diagnosis. Now, all credit to her for having that baby, but the kid is four months old. Which makes her, as a diagnosis-mom, four months on the job. She knows nothing yet about advocacy, although she may learn, if she leaves that cushy government job and scrabbles with the rest of us. Right now, she knows only diapers-worth about special needs, and I wouldn't choose any new diagnosis mom for the job of advocate. Hells bells, I remember how I was when the Eldest was four month old - who wants that blithering mess as an advocate? In about six years, when she's been talking to schools about mainstream vs special ed, pull in or push out programs, well, then I'll be interested in hearing from her. (But then again, considering her ideas about controlling the flow of ideas and books and choices and the environment, maybe not.)

Advocacy is a negotiation that works to shape the available resources to the needs of the community and individual. That means extensive awareness of the resources (she has staffers for that), and the needs of the community, not to mention how they vary by individual. Alas, at this point, Palin has staffers for that, too. And should she continue on the campaign trail - and I'd not tell her to back away from it - the demands of the campaign mean that she will not be Trig's primary advocate and caregiver. When will she spend hours watching Trig develop? Tracking his needs and meeting them? A campaign is gruelling, physically, mentally and emotionally - being a full time mom just can't happen at the same time. So when will she learn? I can only try and judge by her track record as to whether she'll be a caring influence in Washington, and her track record scares me. Cutting money to pregnant teens? Carelessness about environmental issues? Looking at the checks that she cut for Alaskans, taken from the state gas taxes, I wonder how much of that is caring for the little guy, and how much is a showy, teeth baring at Big Business. I don't know.

Honestly, she scares me. Anyone who thinks that she knows enough to limit another's choices or the range of knowledge that they are taught (and did I hear something about banning books while mayor?), has altogether too much certainty to accept the quirks, or shades of gray that come with an individual's needs. There's a reason that the autism ribbon is a patchwork - there's no telling exactly where a diagnosis can tell you. No black and white there, just a shifting array of needs. Can an absolutely certain person accept this uncertainty?

It's certainly worth something to the GOP to have her look like she can. The disability vote is not entirely insignificant. Mothers and fathers of children with asthma, food allergy, autism, diabetes, attention deficit disorders - these are so amazingly common nowadays, and that's not even counting the rarer, and variously well-organized groups, like bleeding disorders. We're a nice slice of the voter pie, people. Can Palin buy us? Through our endorsements, can she buy enough sympathetic, non-diagnosis voters? How easy are we going to be on this date?

If I voted - and again, I'm just kibbitzing here - my price tag would be details. Someone who has thought enough to have generalities that show they understand the needs of a community - mine, others, whatever - and has enough specifics to let me evaluate how much of this thought is solid and how much of it is airy promise. Trust slowly. Walk away from the cute baby and nice image, and look for what happens after the voting is over. Is this what happens? It's going to take something astonishing to avoid that, and more of that. Private insurance is failing, and pushing the expensive folks out and towards the range of backup, government run plans. Which are unprepared for folks like mine. So.

Cards on the table, I've been looking at Obama's healthcare plan. Wet behind those sticky-out ears he might be, but that plan has the potential to protect my family - and others - from those tiered drug plans that are currently rolling my way. Or those insidiuous little dodges that are going to save the insurance some cash, by taking it out of my pocket. My insurance provider just suggested that we pay 20% of our factor costs, having decided that my HTC's factor program, run by a major hospital, is somehow out of network.

Hello? An entire major medical research and teaching hospital is out of network? Can't be that the place is too small - it's huge - or insufficiently reputable (Hahvahd would be soooo ticked). It's not like you can't walk from the insurer's MA office to the hospital, right? Right. Then again, they're refusing also to pay for my recent mammogram, and let me tell ya, a woman my age does not have a mammogram because it's fun and there's nothing good on the blog that day. Oh, no. Little dodges. Big cost to me.

Yep. If I were a single issue voter, I'd be voting for the guy - or gal - with the best health care plan. Happily, as I'm not a single issue voter (or kibbitzer), I note that with a good health care plan comes also a sense of awareness of the life of people outside of the golden parachute.

But enough about that. Life is inching imperfectly forwards here, as the Toddles starts preschool and the Eldest slips smoothly into first grade. Forget politics, and it's crafted, argued soundbites. Let's talk school, hmm?

the one in the back is mine

Day Five:

it was the day of the big show, and the day that the Eldest woke up to find his cousins in the house. I'm not going to camp, you know, he said conversationally. Ah. Come sit down with me, I invited. As we sat, I explained that he was part of a team that was putting on this show, and that we'd all zip out to watch him - and his team - put it on. He thought this over.

You'll all come and see me? I nodded. Cousins too? I grinned, and hugged him. Cousins too, I promised. And the Eldest went to camp.

Come the appointed hour, cousins, sibling and one excited-nervous-excited mama were in the auditorium. Oh, oh, oh, what we saw. We saw

• girls spinning in great hoops
• tumbling
• girls swinging themselves up and round and down and round with long silks
• boys and girls doing magic tricks
• acrobatics on a trapeze
• a disappearing act
• an Indiana Jones bit
• clowns and balloons
• silks draped from the ceiling, and people twining themselves through

.......but we didn't see the Eldest.

Eventually, it came time for a clownish boxing match. Out trooped the clowns, out trooped the kids in their costumes. And out came the Eldest, wearing his regular clothes. He stood there, a little kid poised awkwardly but happily on the stage, with a huge sign: CHEER. He waited for his moment, and held up the sign. CHEER.
And we did.

When his counsellor, dressed in a silly clown costume (but no scary painted face) ran out on stage, the Eldest bravely chased him around a bit with a big foam mallet. And then wandered around, looking lost. The audience waited patiently, while the Eldest found his bearings. Which was good: he had one, last job to do.

It was the juggling act, his father's hobby and the Eldest's favorite. But he'd felt no need to actually learn any control over the balls, nor to practice any specific moves. Instead, the kid liked to throw the ball. High. And then catch it. Mostly.

So, out walked the Eldest onto the empty stage, holding his ball. At center stage he paused, grinned and yelled, ball! and threw it. Up, up, up. And tried to catch it. A horde of kids with juggling paraphernalia come pouring out, and filled the stage in front of the kid throwing and catching his single ball. They perform, and then line up for a bow. In the back, the Eldest was still throwing and catching his ball, oblivious.

Eventually, he realized that he should join the group, and shyly tried to find a spot to stand. He found one, was edged out by a more enthusiastic kid, looked for another spot, gave up and went back to throwing. Bow, go the group of kids. Hooray! shouted the adults. Ball, whispered the Eldest to himself, and tried to catch it. Watching my non-theatrical son find pleasure on the stage, I laughed and smiled until it hurt. (Oh, little love.)

The show over, we all hustled outside, to cheer for the kids trying to swing - and get caught - on the big trapeze. (remember the net?) The Eldest watched, awed, as his friend swung and was caught, a rare success among the courageous. Safety harness on, the Eldest had other plans.

He found his favored circus staff, and she hooked him up to the little swing. I looked up at the Eldest, dangling from that thing, and considered how I would really rather not get on it, myself. But there he was, trying to swing his body back and forth. Going down, said Renata, and let him down. Whoops! Going up! she said, and yanked him up. The Eldest, a firm believer in ample advance warning was somehow grinning as she hauled him up and down, comfortable with having her manage his safety. He was relaxing, I thought, into his body and what it could do. He was, I hoped, thinking less about what he couldn't do - or about what might happen if he did.

Look! said Renata, laughing, he trusts me now! I looked. I saw the Eldest laughing, Renata's understanding of all that he let go in order to laugh, and I smiled so hard my eyes watered.

If that's the kid's boundary, then he crossed it this week. And I can smile - and get damp - over that. Bravo, Eldest. Bravo, dear one.