Jean and Jack Day

It’s not too late to talk about Mother’s Day, is it? Because I’d really like to talk about Mother’s Day. See, Sunday wasn’t just Mother’s Day in Stimeyland, but also Jack’s birthday. We were only a silver anniversary away from the perfect storm of celebration.

Wait a minute! Maybe we can achieve this perfect storm of celebration if I show you this slightly blurry photo of Gerbil Mother’s Day:

Although it probably doesn't count if I took the photo a month ago, does it?

Although it probably doesn’t count if I took the photo a month ago, does it?

Mother’s Day was pretty much overshadowed by Jack’s birthday, which was totally fine with me, especially because I got the best handmade cards and gifts I could have possibly gotten. Sam made me a paper Minecraft cake and sang a song to go along with it, complete with an illustrated companion book.

Jack made me a bead necklace and a paper flower, along with a note that I had to hide from my other kids because it mentioned the secret iPad time he gets in the morning if he has good behavior at school the day before.

Quinn typed up a little note that said, “I love you and you are good. So I think you should get to sleep in 5 more minutes than you usually do. Then get dressed, come downstairs and fix us breakfast.” Then, he poked at me, said, “I regret putting my thumb in your armpit,” and ran to the bathroom to frantically wash his hands. Because I have cooties, evidently.

Also, Alex got me the best Mother’s Day card that he could possibly have given to a non-hugger autistic person like me.

I laughed and laughed. Alex gets me.

I laughed and laughed. Alex gets me.

We then moved on to Jack’s big day. He opened presents and then all the males in my house played Minecraft together until I threatened to walk out of the house and go on Jack’s Big Birthday Outing all by myself because we were going to a petting farm and I wanted to pet some farm animals, thank you very much.

Also, Minecraft is stupid.

I finally bent my entire family to my will and we headed out to the farm. Where did we go, you ask? Why don’t we let Sam tell us?

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He asked me to take this photo. It was the best Mother’s Day gift I could have asked for.

Wait. Where did you say you were again?

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This would only be better if spoilsport Quinn had shown his face. God, I love my family.

There were all kinds of animals to pet and feed at this farm. Unfortunately, Jack was unexcited about all of them.

Wait. I mean he was SUPER excited about all of them.

Wait. I mean he was SUPER excited about all of them.

We started with the fowl. My kids think chickens are really funny. Except Sam. Sam was a little bit afraid of the chickens. That’s probably a smart move seeing as how chickens are exceptionally pointy. In reality, however, chickens are probably more scared of us than we are of them.

This chicken in particular.

This chicken in particular.
He was trapped in a Team Stimey-chicken sandwich—otherwise known as a chicken sandwich.

We saw every animal at the farm. We were allowed to pet all of them except for the zebras. I assume this is because every time I have seen zebras in captivity, there is a sign that warns people that fingers look like carrots* and you shouldn’t stick said fingers in zebra pens because zebras are assholes and will eat your hand.

Naturally, I asked Alex to put his finger in the zebra pen.

He's really half assing feeding his finger to the zebra though. You can tell from the photo.

He’s really half assing feeding his finger to the zebra though. You can tell from the photo.

We also saw the pig race.

I felt that this was a little demeaning, but they didn't seem to mind.

I felt that the race was a little demeaning, but the pigs didn’t seem to mind.

One of those pigs was galloping. The other one sort of ambled at a fast trot. Once they raced, they ate out of their little piggy bowl and the first one snorted angrily and shoved the second one every time the second one tried to eat some food. I was all, “Hey! That first one is like me!”

There were a lot of baby animals at the petting farm. There were baby birds, pigs, llamas, bison, goats, a cow, and sheep.

This baby sheep made a whiny, complainy bleat that sound EXACTLY like Quinn.

This baby sheep made a whiny, complainy bleat that sound EXACTLY like Quinn.

Happily, this farm made Quinn, who is often quite grumpy, happier than I have seen him in a while. It was great to see his delighted, happy face. Baby animals are kind of his thing.

The sheer awesomeness of feeding sheep knocked him on his ass.

The sheer awesomeness of feeding sheep knocked him on his ass.

My favorite animal there was the kangaroo. Have you ever petted a kangaroo? OMG, they are so soft. And they have little hands that they use to scratch themselves in all kinds of fun places while you watch. Plus, if you get really close to them, they will try to eat your hair. I want a kangaroo.

Specifically, this kangaroo.

Specifically, this kangaroo. I will name him Bartholomew.

I also have a thing for emus, even though they are kinda dicks. Have you ever petted an emu? Of course not, because they will peck you to death before you get close enough.

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Aaaaaiiiiiggghhhhh!!!!!!

Baby chickens were nicer than the emus, although I’m sure if they could have gotten away with pecking my eyes out, they would have.

Bock bock bagock!!!!

I would name this lil’ guy “Nugget.”

The unruliest animals were the ones in this cage though:

I would like to state for the record, that it was not ME who locked the children in there.

I would like to state for the record, that it was not ME who locked the children in there.

Revenge for the illegal jailing was pursued.

Sam will also peck your eyes out.

Sam will also peck you to death.

I have to say, Alex was skeptical about our trip to the petting farm. It was, however, one of our best outings in a long time. It was outside, so we could be loud and run; there was sufficient interaction to keep everyone’s interest; and we were able to see the entire farm and touch every single animal on it in two hours, meaning no one got overwhelmed.

See? Look? Most of them look not not unhappy!

Add some focus and take away one stranglehold and this photo is super close to being almost frame-able.

And that was Jean and Jack Day in Stimeyland. Pretty good, huh? The only thing I neglected to show you is Jack’s cake. I always get my cakes from the grocery store, but this time I was nervous because my instructions to the bakery, which they wrote verbatim on the order form, were “Make it look grassy. Kind of like it’s a field.”

They actually did a great job. Although it barely mattered considering that one of Jack’s gifts was a set of some awesome Minecraft figures and some plant foam cut into cubes. Jack’s face—hell, my whole family’s faces—were priceless when they saw this cake.

I came to dig.

I came to dig.

I hope that all of you had Mother’s Day/Jack’s Birthdays that were as good as ours was. Even though I didn’t get the traditional Mother’s Day gift of getting to avoid my family all day, it was one of the better days that I’ve had in a long, long time.

 

* Fingers also evidently look like rodent pellets. I say this based on the fact that I poked my finger in front of Jetpack the other day and she latched on, leaving me to yank my hand up, GERBIL STILL DANGLING FROM MY FINGER BY HER TEETH, until she finally fell off. It was quite traumatic, I tell you. The trauma was made even worse because no one was as concerned by the blood oozing out of the tiny puncture wound on the tip of my finger as I was. Fair warning: Jetpack has developed a taste for human blood. Remain vigilant.

And to All a Good Night…

Christmas Eve can be touch or go. You know, you have kids who are really jacked up and looking forward to Christmas and Christmas Eve promises excitement, but it’s not quite the main event, so there is disappointment built in, not to mention two or three or…six hours of yelling things like “IF YOU DON’T GO TO SLEEP RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL KILL SANTA WITH YOUR BAD BEHAVIOR! SANTA WILL NEVER COME NOW! ARE YOU HAPPY? ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY?”

Although that last little bit usually only happens in parents’ heads.

This year for Team Stimey though, shit came together and we had such a fantastic day.

We started by heading out to IHOP because we drove past there last week and Jack was all, “I wanna go to IHOOOOOPPPP!” and I figured that it would kill some Christmas Eve morning time, so why don’t we go then?

Team Stimey at IHOP

They put us in a back corner. It was a good decision on their part.

My kids were in enormously good form what with Sam asking the waitress for her phone number, Quinn having many questions about menu items, and Jack, well, Jack was pretty chill actually. I’m not even going to discuss Alex’s behavior. We spent longer eating breakfast than we have in a long time. Usually restaurant meals are a pretty quick affair for us, on the assumption that shorter means less chance of a freakout, but everybody was happy to just sit and eat today. It was great.

I mean, we even started breakfast with hot chocolate that came topped with whipped cream and chocolate chips, so it’s not like we even made an effort to keep them from getting hepped up on sugar or anything. Quinn doesn’t like whipped cream, so his hot chocolate was plain, but the waitress brought him chocolate chips anyway.

Quinn and chocolate chips

This is when the waitress cemented her giant tip.

After IHOP, it was off to the dry cleaner, as you do on Christmas Eve.

We spent the next couple of hours at home teetering dangerously on Too Much Togetherness when a goddamn Christmas miracle happened. It started to snow.

Sam in snow

It took him a surprisingly long time to catch a snowflake in his mouth.

It turns out that my children are unable to walk into my backyard without Nerf battlegear, so they suited up and headed out.

Jack in battle gear

Our own version of Bad Piggies.

They were so happy that even Alex and I went out with them and ran around.

Quinn in snow

And all was right with the world.

It didn’t snow a lot and it didn’t stick to the ground, but it got Team Stimey out of the house and happy. You can see falling snow in the above photos is you squint reeeallly hard, but it’s easier to see on a dark canvas.

Cassidy in snow

This is why we only have dark-furred dogs.

We futzed around for a while, watched a movie together, played some video games, and had our traditional steak and spinach Christmas Eve dinner.

Everyone gets to open a gift on Christmas Eve and Jack had been asking all day to do so. Team Stimey Junior even had a bonus Christmas Eve gift because my mom sent them one.

Look at them working together to unwrap that gift. They are so motherfucking civilized.

Look at them working together to unwrap that gift. They are so motherfucking civilized.

The gift was Just Dance for the Wii. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Jack dance to Gangnam Style, by the way. I wish I’d gotten THAT on film.

Sam had a gift for Alex and I too and he was super insistent that we open it on Christmas Eve, so we decided that was okay. The gift was cool, but the best part was the stack of cards that came with it. Seriously, a stack. Some of those cards contained alliteration, like this: “Marvelous mom manages maidenhood majestically moving minds.”

Then, oh my God, then he had Alex and I follow him to the computer where he presented us with the Power Point presentation he had created about us. I have literally never gotten a better gift. Here are two of the slides. Judge for yourself.

Mice of Power!

“Mom has loved mice, gerbils, and guinea pigs forever practically. Rodents Rock!”

Phish

“Dad has loved the band Phish for a long time. #1 band baby!”

I have no idea where he got all those photos or when he put this thing together, but even Alex almost started crying because it was so damn sweet.

We had a few other traditions to get to, but Quinn had to squeeze in some letter writing first.

Quinn has been planning this note for a looong time.

Quinn has been planning this note for a looong time.

"To: Santa, Does Rudolf's nose really flash? Pleas wrigt yes or no under with the pen. from Quinn."

“To: Santa, Does Rudolf’s nose really flash? Pleas wrigt yes or no under with the pen. from Quinn.”

What do you think, internets? Does Rudolph’s nose really flash?

The last hour or so of Christmas Eve before bedtime is very busy in Stimeyland. We have to mix oatmeal and glitter to make the reindeer dust.

Reindeer dust, to attract and feed reindeer.

The glitter attracts the reindeer and the oatmeal gives them something to snack on while Santa fills stockings.

There was a lot of complaining about cold feet on the porch. So they all went to get shoes while I stood on the cold lawn waiting.

You can use edible sprinkles instead of glitter, but it doesn't photograph as well.

You can use edible sprinkles instead of glitter, but it doesn’t photograph as well.

I let Quinn choose how many cookies to leave out for Santa, a task he took VERY seriously.

Evidently cookie placement is VERY important.

Evidently cookie placement is crucial.

Then it was off to the living room for the annual reading of The Night Before Christmas.

Jack had little smart ass comments for each line, Quinn scoured each page looking for pictures of cats, and Sam pretended to play the flute. Alex gamely carried on with the story.

Jack had little smart ass comments for each line, Quinn scoured each page looking for pictures of cats, and Sam pretended to play the flute. Alex gamely carried on with the story.

We put the kiddos to bed and I gave the gerbils their Christmas seed cube and then we began to wait for them to fall asleep.

Merry Christmas, Gerbils of Power!

Merry Christmas, Gerbils of Power!

I’m sitting here waiting for Quinn to fall asleep. That poor kid. He wants to fall asleep so desperately, but he can’t. He’s pretty sad about it.

So. I just wrote THAT ^^^^ and then Quinn came out of his room SOBBING. He was afraid he would never fall asleep and Santa wouldn’t come and oh dear lord, I have never seen anyone quite so sad in my life. It took me an HOUR to get him to sleep. Please, Quinn, don’t wake up again.

Now I’m off to be Santa, if I can wrest my elves away from the Transformers show they’re watching on TV.

This photo is only here because I didn't post one of our tree yet and my mom always wants to see one.

This photo is only here because I didn’t post one of our tree yet and my mom always wants to see one. Guess who decorated it?

I hope you had a really merry Christmas Eve and that your kids fall asleep quickly!

Our Neurodiverse Thanksgiving

Team Stimey had a really nice weekend, full of pie (or, as I like to call it, “pah”), adorable gerbils (or, as Quinn likes to call them, “gerballs”), and a nice visit from my mother-in-law (or, as Alex likes to call her, “Mom”).

It was a nice few days, largely free of barfing or leaving the house, which means it was very nearly ideal.

I’ll be back to posting more regularly in the coming days, but I wanted to tell you one of my favorite parts of Thanksgiving.

We were all sitting at the table—some of us eating, some of us fidgeting, some of us demolishing pieces of bread, some of us manically drinking wine, when Sam busts out with the following question for my mother-in-law:

“Grandma, do you have autism or ADHD?”

I won’t tell you what she said, but I will tell you that Sam then proceeded to go around the table listing everybody’s disability/label/identification, including one with which he has evidently diagnosed Quinn. He called Alex “the only kinda normal one here,” leading me to explain neurodiversity, and then we went on with our decidedly quirky repast.

Just another Thanksgiving in Stimeyland.

(Also, I have some words to describe Alex—”kinda normal” ain’t among them.)

I hope your weekend was lovely too.

Cathartes Aura Septentrionalis…

…a.k.a. the Turkey Vulture. More on her later.

Team Stimey went to a nature center today. Hijinks ensued.

For example, in the Curiosity Corner, Quinn made an Algership for the Algernaut.

Quinn coined both of those terms, by the way.

Algernon should have stayed in there because there was danger afoot.

Spoiler alert: The eagle didn’t get him.

While the hijinks were fun, maybe the most exciting thing that happened today is that I may have found a whole new secondary mascot for Team Stimey. It’s not a rodent, which is why it has to be secondary, but if you’ll bear with me, you’ll see why I need to add it to the cast of characters here.

Who is so awesome that we need to bother to learn about a whole new set of non-rodent characteristics?

This fella here:

Her name is Precious, but I call her Semi-Precious.

She, if you couldn’t tell from the first sentence of this post, is a Turkey Vulture. I feel a kinship with little Semi-Precious. I took a picture of the information sign for you to read in full, but I can give you a list of the similarities between her and I after the photo.

I can only wish I had a beak though.

1. I’ve eaten carrion—fresh carrion. (All meat is in some stage of decay, right?)
2. I do not pursue live prey.
3. I am a cleanser of my environment, in that I have hired maids to clean my house.
4. My head is featherless.
5. If I were to soar, I might be mistaken for a hawk. Or a small dirigible.
6. Again, I do not hunt my food.
7. “Peace Eagle” was my nickname in high school.*

But the clincher, the thing that sent me back to gaze in tenderness at my new friend, Semi-Precious, was the last sentence on the sign.

“Turkey vultures vomit as a form of self protection.”

She is clearly Team Stimey material. Fortunately, she did not vomit while we were there. Although part of me wonders if the nature center staff made that up to keep people from harassing her and claiming her as their own.

Hmmm. Hang on.

Okay. Wikipedia (which is always accurate) says, and I quote, “Its primary form of defense is regurgitating semi-digested meat, a foul-smelling substance which deters most creatures intent on raiding a vulture nest.”

I’m convinced. And deterred from raiding its nest.

Oh, and also, I have the same wingspan as a Turkey Vulture. I don’t think I have to say anything else.

I’m taller though.

Please join me in welcoming secondary mascot Semi-Precious the Turkey Vulture.

May she never puke on any of you.

* I may be lying about this one.

*****

Even though my kids are not very good at going to museums, I always seem to forget that and agree to go when invited. This happened last Sunday, when Jack, Quinn, and I took my sister and her kids to the Natural History Museum. Naturally I wrote about the experience over at White Knuckle Parenting on the Wheaton Patch. Check it out!

Snakes in the Grass

I feel like we celebrate birthdays all month in May. Quinn turned seven last week, so we had his birthday party this weekend. Before we go into what happens when you bring a gang of first graders and their siblings to your house and arm them with Nerf guns, let us first discuss that my youngest kiddo is seven years old.

Seven! (And insubordinate.)

I don’t have babies anymore. I don’t have toddlers. I don’t even have little kids. I have big kids. Thank God Quinn still can’t say his “R”s, which makes him sound younger than he is. I’m holding on to that.

Also, he’s still enough of a little kid to dress up in a homemade costume for his party.

He saw The Avengers recently. I think it had an effect on him.

We scheduled a company called Reptiles Alive to bring creepy crawlies to our house, but prior to that, we gave our guests a half hour to arrive and arm themselves. At one point, I walked down into the basement to make sure everyone was okay, only to be greeted by this:

They were okay. What’s more, they were ORGANIZING.

Clearly this insurrection had to be put down and put down fast, so I gathered them all up and told them the reptile show was about to begin. Now, you should understand that this reptile show came with all kinds of instructions about where to hold the show and how warm it had to be to have the show outside and why everyone had to sit in a single straight line and if there isn’t a close parking space, they WILL NOT do the show.

I was suitably nervous. I was also pretty sure I was going to fuck it all up somehow, resulting in the reptile guy packing up his lizards and going home.

They even sent a diagram:

Fortunately, Tony, the reptile guy, was cool. This is what OUR show looked more like:

And even this is probably idealized.

The show was super fun, even if Sam claimed to have Reptileaphobia and bailed, as did a couple other kids, but for the most part, they were RAPT. Tony was awesome. He let Quinn be his helper, a job that Quinn took SUPER seriously.

He very carefully let everyone touch the items he was put in charge of.

He did take a short break to see if he was taller than the snake.

He wasn’t.

The reason we hired Reptiles Alive is because they did an assembly at Quinn’s school and Quinn was in LOVE. He made us go to the library and check out books about reptiles and he scoured the Reptiles Alive website for videos and information. During the party, Tony brought out some obscure lizard and Quinn was all, “It’s a Blue Tongue Skink!”

We were all suitably impressed.

Tony brought lizards and turtles and one non-reptile—this here toad:

He is poisonous, so the kids didn’t pet him.

Tony also brought snakes. Because EVERYONE likes snakes. Okay, not EVERYONE likes snakes, but everyone under the age of ten at this party likes snakes.

QUINN likes snakes.

Probably our mice don’t like snakes. Especially after Alex kept making jokes about feeding our remaining two little friends to the snakes on hand. They would be pleased to know that the boa constrictor seemed to have similar plans for Alex.

Seriously. That thing was aimed at Alex and kept trying to get there.

 Fortunately, our friend Tony had a firm hold him. And soon enough, Quinn did as well.

I should have asked if I could have a photo with the
snake wrapped around his shoulders.

From there, it was a short jump to beating the hell out of a paper turtle lying helplessly upside down on our lawn.

I aim for irony in my piñatas.

Also, we ended the party scouring the ground outside for a tooth that someone lost. It’s not a party until someone loses a body part.

Happy 7th birthday to my baby boy.

My Cheetah-thon Post, Full of Gooshy Love

Next Saturday is Jack’s last hockey practice of the season. This year of hockey has been an amazing one. I am so grateful for what the Cheetahs have given to Jack this year. I am so grateful for what they have given to me this year.

Being a part of the Cheetah Nation is one of the very best things I’ve ever been involved with in my life.

Which brings me to the Cheetah-thon, which took place last Saturday evening. We had a great turnout and we more than exceeded our fundraising goal. (Thank you, by the way, Annette for your donation!) In fact, I just read on Facebook that the event raised $25,000 total. AMAZING.

I already thanked you for all you did for the Cheetahs with your donations and your love, but I would like to reiterate it. It all meant so much to me and to Jack and to the rest of the Cheetahs. Thank you.

And now that all the gooshy love feelings are out of the way, here is the story of the Cheetah-thon as experienced by Team Stimey. (Featuring some (more) gooshy love feelings and some purloined pretzels.)

I’ll start with the gooshy love feelings, which can be summed up in this photo, which I stole from someone on Facebook:

I’m so glad someone caught this moment.

If that’s not gooshy and lovey enough for you, how about this photo of Jack and his coach?

That’s a coach who loves his players.

I found that detail in the background of another photo and I can’t get over it. I love it.

Of course Jack wasn’t the only member of Team Stimey that went skating. These two jokers gave it a shot too:

I love that Sam is trying to help Quinn and Quinn is having NONE OF IT.

All said, things went far better for them this time than the last time we went skating.

I didn’t skate this time, but I did wander around on the ice in my sandals to take photos. The arena people resurfaced the ice in the middle of our two-hour skate time and asked all of us to get off the ice for a few minutes. I was one of the last ones off because my shuffling was slower than skating and also because I was too busy taking photos to follow directions. This panicked Quinn, who is always looking out for me.

He started banging on the glass and pointing behind me to alert me of my imminent Flattening by Zamboni.

It just slowed me down because then I had to take a photo of him.

My kids had such a great time at the Cheetah-thon. Sam and Quinn were happy, but Jack was totally in his element. Like, smiling, joyous in his element. I’ve spoken before about the safe space that the Cheetahs create and I mean that in a literal sense in that other people will step up to keep my kid safe, but I also mean it in a another sense.

I can see Jack relax when he’s around these people. Jack is comfortable with the Cheetahs. He is at home. That means a lot to a kid like Jack. I know you get that. It also means a lot to me.

Anywho. After everyone was done skating, I asked them to smile nicely for me and this is what I got.

Hmmm. I’m starting to figure out why my kids are the way they are.
Thank you, MIL, for not being a jerk like everyone else.

My kids were done skating, so Alex helped them take their skates off, which reminded me of the reason that I take Jack to practice and help him put his gear on and take it off.

Some of us have a more delicate touch than others.

So, I was taking photos and everyone else was wandering around and I started thinking that I wanted to put eyes on Jack, even though I was pretty sure Alex or my MIL was watching him. I saw him just as he came around a corner with this:

He didn’t have money or an adult with him. How did he get the pretzel?

I was all, “Jack, did you just take that pretzel?!?!”

And he replied, “I said please.”

I made it to the snack bar counter just as my mother-in-law was paying the confused and amused looking teenagers behind the counter.

You have to love that Jack. I know I do. I also know you do. And I love all of you.

Jack’s Measurable Social Progress Day

I have been struggling a little bit with what to write here lately. I currently have all kinds of angst over…lots of stuff. I miss Susan. Jack is struggling mightily. There are commitments I am torn about keeping or dropping. Things aren’t super awesome.

I keep writing and deleting, writing and deleting, which is an extremely frustrating experience, and one which ultimately results in my writing nothing.

But I’m going to put all that aside for a minute to tell you about Valentine’s Day. Yes, I know I’m late, that all of the half price post-Valentine’s Day chocolate has already been purchased and consumed, but I have some things to say.

Two years ago at Jack’s school Valentine’s Day party, I realized that he didn’t know the names of any of his classmates. I realized that his not knowing this super basic information about his peers was indicative of his lack of real inclusion in his classroom. It knocked me down hard. Ever since, I’ve been very watchful during Valentine’s Day parties to see how he does. I consider the day to be Jack’s Measurable Social Progress Day.

That soldier in the upper left? Jack saluted him for, like, five minutes.

This year during card passing out time, I didn’t help Jack at first. He took a valentine and wandered around looking for the desk of the girl to whom it was addressed. Most of the other kids had passed out half of their cards by the time I finally stepped in and helped him find her desk.

At that point, I realized that he needed help. So I handed him the valentines one at a time and let him search for the kid, but only helped him if he was obviously clueless about who the child was. Jack did really well. It helped that once we were two or three cards in, most of the other kids were done and sitting at their desks so they were easier to find.

He didn’t know everyone’s names, but he knew a lot of them, and the kids were all lovely to Jack. Jack had even written some extra stuff to a couple of the kids on their cards. It’s cool to see him starting to be interested in his classmates.

Part of the jumble of angst I am feeling is stress about Jack’s educational placement and whether he is in the right place. So it is lovely to see that even if he’s having a really tough time (and he is) and even if the social gulf between him and his peers is widening (and it is) that he is able to be part of the class.

Jack also made valentines for all of our pets and set about distributing them after school. I still haven’t found the one he gave to our remaining (child hating) cat, but he didn’t have bleeding scratches when he came back from giving it to her, so I’m not too concerned.

The two remaining mice (geez, our house is kind of depressing these days) were out and about and no doubt enjoyed their valentines tremendously.

“Oh, Jack! But I didn’t get you anything!”

The dog was less excited to get her valentine.

It says “WOOF!”

Then Cassidy reciprocated Jack’s love by giving him a big ol’ sloppy kiss. I really enjoyed watching that.

Jack enjoyed it less.

Oh, right, and I let the rest of my family know that I love them too. (By the way, don’t do your Valentine’s Day shopping at Target ON Valentine’s Day after your family gives you a lovely heart-shaped locket engraved multiple times with the word “Love.” The pink sections of the store were long since picked clean.)

Now all I need is someone to tell me how to get a tiny photograph of all three of my children into a heart-shaped locket. It’s harder than it sounds. I hope you all had a happy Jack’s Measurable Social Progress Day too!