Sprinkle Once, Sprinkle Twice, Sprinkle (& Win) 'Chicken Soup For The Soul: Raising Kids on The Spectrum'

I'm a rabid reader. You're shocked, I'm sure, but it's true.

Growing up, weekly trips to the county library were a treat. And back then, we actually checked out books from the school library, too (something that all too quickly seems to be going the way of the Dewey Decimal card catalog system).

I have an indelible memory of actually crying in indignant shame when a school librarian wouldn't allow me to check out a book because "the reading level is too high for your grade." She wasn't censoring the (innocuous) content; it was the "reading level." (Oh, I'm sorry - are the big words going cause to an apocalypse in my young brain? Thanks to Mom and her indulging librarian intervention, the book came home with me the next day. Turns out, it wasn't very good, anyway.)

Like many readers, I go through genre frenzies and author binges. For example, I doubt I'll ever read a Danielle Steel again, but I greedily tore through her entire oeuvre available to date in my late teens. (My, she's prolific.)

So when my daughter was first diagnosed with autism, you bet I read everything on that parenting/special needs/autism shelf. Side Note: Have you noticed how that one, measly shelf has exploded into two bookcases these days? I don't have much patience/tolerance for those anymore. I live it and breathe it, and I've moved on to other Goodreads lists. Yet, there are a few exceptions and occasionally I crave a good autism cry (there a a few varieties ranging from the ugly cry to the battle cry.) Some of my favorite of those books are here.

And, if we're being honest, I am a sucker for an unopened, unread book of any kind - and I have way more of them hanging around my home than I have time to read them. I wish you were my neighbor and I could lend some to you and you could brew me a cup of coffee. Alas, we'll have to settle for a book giveaway. It's your lucky day, and I've rustled up a shiny, new book just for you. For keeps.




I had the wonderful opportunity to preview Chicken Soup for the Soul: Raising Kids on the Spectrum. I didn't even groan once when I heard about it because it's got some great stuff in there - whether you're newly diagnosed or old hat.


The book, just published in April, is straight up "Chicken Soup"y, so there's no need to officially review it for you, as far as I'm concerned. It's an amalgamation of advice, inspiration, self-help, sympathy, empathy and love packaged into 101 personal stories from a variety of writers (mostly very good writers - including some of my own very talented friends). Of course, like most "Chicken Soups", it should be read next to a box of Kleenex and chased with something tart. Still, I only skipped over a very, very few essays and loved the rest.

To showcase this fine book, I was going to hit up one of the contributors to guest post/host this giveaway.* I then was going to interview them with all sorts of journalistic-y, revealing questions. Oh, and I was going to create a fill-in-the-blank contest where you were going to blind me with your brilliance and win the book on merit. Oh yes I was!

Buuuuut, if you've read my last post, you'll know I Lost Time - and still haven't found it. So for now, I decided to go with the never-fail approach of flashing "FREE BOOK GIVEAWAY" at you in hopes that I can reclaim your attention - and just hit "publish" already. So go ahead and enter. I promise it's just perfect for your grade level - whatever that might be. Take that, Madam Librarian!

HOW TO ENTER
1. Comment below by midnight JUNE 21, 2013 - be sure to login or include your email address so I can contact you if you win.
2. Winner will be randomly selected using highly advanced, sophisticated (or rather free, low-tech) web tools and will be notified by JUNE 24, 2013. You'll then reply promptly with your mailing address.
3. Book will be sent from publisher representative directly to winner. You'll love it!

*I'm totally going to hit them up for guest posts another time, I promise.

xoxo Maurice Sendak

I Lost Time

I logged out for a few minutes...and then it was June. I try to remember something remarkable that's happened since then, but really, I don't know where I've been or what I've been doing.

Have you ever seen Primal Fear? It seems like your garden-variety legal thriller circa 1996, but it sticks. Ed Norton steals the movie playing Aaron, a naive altar boy, accused of the violent murder of the Archbishop, who claims to have no memory of the incident since he "lost time." But while Aaron checked out, Roy - one of Aaron's multiple personalities - apparently took over his body. We see that Roy is a violent sociopath who proudly admits to the murder. (If you haven't seen it, it's an excellent film and one of the original gotchas...but that's not really the point of this post.)

Image courtesy of deviantART.

Like Aaron, I feel like I lost time. No, I can't claim any alter egos - criminal or otherwise. I just mean it seems like time passed and I'm not quite sure where it all went. (NOTE TO SELF: If I ever do take on another personality, it would be nice if she would handle the laundry and cooking.) 

It's like when you plan to play "just one game" of Candy Crush and suddenly it's midnight. Or you open up Pinterest. Or when you blink and your kid is a teenager...and you're in your forties. 

As we age, we realize that while time seemed to pass uber-slowly when we were young (especially during Calculus class), it zooms right by once you're older. All those little, old ladies who smugly told us to "enjoy it; it goes by so fast" when they saw us balancing screaming toddlers, strollers and diaper bags while double-fisting coffees - well, turns out they were right. (I still stand by my sleep-deprived, indignant glares, though.)

So, I lost time. I can't really account for it or explain it by citing anything remarkable that's happened.

Checklists slowly got checked. Or re-prioritized. Or forgotten.

No photos have been printed and put in albums; the laundry pile remains life-sized; the paper stacks have not shrunk.

The One With The Bad Metaphor (In Which I Compare Special Needs Parenting to Candy Crush)

Forrest Gump famously compared life to a box of chocolates. Well, less famously and with a much longer, convoluted explanation, I'm telling you that special needs parenting is like a game of Candy Crush.

Candy Crush Saga, for the uninitiated, is your basic "match three" game available on Facebook, the web, iDevices, Droids and probably outer space. It has a few twists, however, that have managed to capture the zeitgeist of low-tech gamers and harbored addiction in many circles (See Top 10 Signs You and Your Friends are Addicted to Candy Crush).

As I wait the requisite 30 minutes for a new "life," I pontificate on how the developers over at King.com captured special needs parenting in these colorful, little candy wrappers.

So you get these five lives and you are trying to complete levels with specific challenges and limited moves available. When you run out of moves before achieving your goal, you lose a life. You can wait for a new one; buy one (no way); or ask your friends to help.

It's damn hard doing this alone. While it can be hard to ask for help sometimes - you don't want to impose; they won't understand; you just asked yesterday - this stuff is nearly impossible without a village (see Meditation for an Autism Mom). The best of friends know you are struggling. They send "life" before you have to ask. Maybe it's in the form of a funny text, or a quick call, or a night out...but it's extremely re-energizing, especially if you've been having a particularly tough, level 65 kind of week.

Some people (I've noticed it's mostly men, incidentally) refuse to connect their game to Facebook. Are they ashamed? Do they prefer keeping things private? Perhaps they don't want to deal with any questions or public scrutiny. Regardless, they will not be able to ask anyone for help and they will, perhaps even unknowingly, face increased frustration as they run out of life (or end up spending lots of in-app purchase money). 

Either way, Candy Crush Saga requires lots of attention. Our other games miss us. Scramble With Friends actually resigned a few games on our account, abandoned.  "What happened to you," our friends ask? Well, I miss my old self too, but let's face it, the Candy owns me now. It's not better. It's not necessarily worse. It's just different.

It might be more demanding than some games (although have you ever had to take care of a digital fish tank it or pet shop? Just sayin'), but did you know that every seventh person in Hong Kong plays Candy Crush? Google it. If it's that prevalent, perhaps we should spend more energy on tolerance and inclusion, rather than trying to fight it.

The sweets get ugly sometimes, I know. Players tend to curse, gasp, misbehave and might even throw an iPad across the room. OF COURSE we know that's not appropriate behavior, but sometimes our frustrations get the better of us. Perhaps even more so when our candy has left us sleep-deprived, gluten-dependent and speechless.

On the game's level map, we see all our friends' avatars way, way, ahead of us. We notice this when we're stuck on a particularly irritating level. We wonder, how did they get so far? Was it easier for them? Did the Candy Crush gods give them more color bombs? We must catch up!

We must remember to control that jealousy and resentment. We can't ever know what's going on behind closed doors. Maybe it's because they are up all night with a reckless, child insomniac. Maybe they spent lots of money and are now bankrupt. Maybe they've been playing for a very long time. Our level can be just as fulfilling, even if it's not exactly what you expected. Holland has windmills...and tulips!

As you do master a level, the euphoria can be short-lived because there's always another level ahead! New, unexpected challenges come out of nowhere. Exploding chocolate? Barriers? I thought I had this all figured out!

Sad Heart. Send Lives!

Well, just like those futile times when you only have a few moves left and you know you're not going to make it, you still have to slide those candies around and ride it out. You'll get re-energized and try again. Maybe in 30 minutes. Maybe tomorrow. 

Don't fight it. Yes, there are plenty of people out there who have never discovered Candy Crush (gasp). Or they haven't been lured into its frustratingly satisfying lair. Maybe they're content with their non-dependent lives, and they tell us in superior tones, "I'll just stick with Bejeweled, thank you very much."

True, our Candy Crush existence might be grueling at times, but I like to think we're better for it. We have demonstrated strategy, perseverance, tolerance and good humor.

We appreciate the sweet stuff so much more when it's that harder to attain. We celebrate every small success - the jelly is gone! - and know that they truly can never, ever understand unless they're right there in the candy trenches with us.
Nom nom nom! 

***So, how many of you think I need a Candyvention right around now?

Wordless (As Possible) Wednesday (Or Thereabouts): Personalized Whac-A-Mole Game

Uh, guys? I'm rarely "Wordless" and it's the opposite of Wednesday. (I think it's Saturday - so we can pretend this is really early or really late. I think we all know the obvious answer.)

So this, THIS new product from Hammacher Schlemmer*:

And it gets better! Here's the description:

The Personalized Whac-A-Mole Game
This is the Whac-A-Mole game that can be personalized to replace the standard mole heads with molded caricatures using pictures of members of your family, past managers, boyfriends/girlfriends, or any desired combination of personalities. The game operates exactly like the ones found in amusement parks and carnivals--five mole heads pop up randomly while you attempt to bash each with a mallet for points--but this one comes in a walnut veneer cabinet (with hardwood inlays) that automatically opens and closes at the touch of a button from the included remote. When closed, the game assumes the form of a bookshelf, but when commanded to open, both halves swing open to reveal the game, complete with full-color artwork. A storage shelf for your preferred beverages sits above the game, so libation is always at an arm's reach.

I mean...Wow! Awesome, right? Just one itty bitty concern: It's $35,000! So yeah, if you're into this sort of thing, you might stick with the poor-man's version and just paste little color printouts of your nemeses on the critters in the Toys R Us version...maybe with a Pabst stored in a nearby milk carton for the full effect.

Or how about my "free" version: play it virtual reality style. Every Single Day. In Real Life. So where's my $35,000? 

* I am receiving no compensation, freebies, trades, publicity or even a note of thanks from this company in return for this post. Natch. (If you ask me, that's just wrong.)

Draw Something Hall of Shame

I'm a little late to the Draw Something craze, but that's probably because I've been so absorbed with my Scramble, Scrabble, Poker, Mystery Mansion and Hangman habit.

It's been less than a week, and it seems that I now am as addicted as the rest of you. However, I've got a huge problem with this game: I can NOT draw something. I can NOT draw anything.

I'm not being humble or self-critical. I just can't. Occasionally, I might fancy myself a "word artist" and I'm not terrible at photography, but when it comes to traditional art on paper - drawing, painting, sketching - I'm a complete and utter failure. Does your 5-year-old bring home "Art" from pre-k? Mine is worse. If there were an American Idol for doodling, I'd be brought in during audition week as the "I can't believe anyone's that bad" entertainment.

Once, in 4th grade or so, we were doing something with paper mache. (Natch.) I think we were paper macheing our arms or something. Can't imagine why. Anyway, probably to deflect from my lack of talent in art class and simply to be silly, I put my charm bracelet on the paper mache arm. To help you visualize this, think tacky, plastic, neon-colored charms circa late 70s/early 80s; not Pandora. My art teacher happened to pass by at the moment, and deemed it absolutely brilliant. (Art is weird that way.) She loved it. Before I knew what happened, said paper mache art was displayed in the local (nationally renown!) art museum.

It was a complete fluke because of two facts: 1. It was not brilliant. 2. I really suck at art. (And I kind of missed my charm bracelet. Wonder if I ever got it back?)

Still, I defend my right to play "Draw Something"...and not only draw poorly, but revel in it.

I whined-commented a little when I read this article by my TwitterBook friend: Draw Something (That Doesn't Totally Suck). (Disclaimer - none of the examples are mine. He won't play with me...which is good, because mine are worse).

But I then realized he's probably not having as much fun as I. I am hysterical when I'm drawing these bits AND even more so when I have to witness my opponent's attempts to guess the words that I've so ineptly illustrated. If you want a game like this to be fun, play with someone like me. If you want to win - even though there's not really winning at Draw Something - so let's say win something like Pictionary, put me on the other team (even though I'm okay at guessing. BTW, if the game is Taboo or Catchphrase, I'm your girl. Unstoppable!).

Recently, another TwitterBook friend posted some of her not-so-art-museum-worthy pics on Facebook, and I was practically in tears reading the hilarious comments. Basically, Draw Something is the best party game ever - without the party. So, I am going to provide a space for us to share these pictures and the laughter. We all need it!

***Unfortunately, I haven't quite mastered saving my screenshots on Draw Something, so I can't share my absurd depictions of "joystick" or "airport" ... but don't worry. Worse will come.

Please post your own ... if you dare!

Draw Something Hall of Shame Gallery

Red-Light Makeover (as in traffic lights, not the other, much more exciting kind. You're barking up the wrong blog, buddy.)

I have - in various stages of my former life - read and even subscribed to glossy, girly-girl magazines including Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Allure, Vogue and Marie Claire (I'm still anonymous, right?). As you can imagine, I was well-versed in the art of looking my best self: the differences, nuances and proper usage of primer, toner, foundation, powder, concealer, moisturizer, bronzer and so on.

I've really never had the patience to apply all that on myself, but I rarely would leave the house without lipstick, mascara and at least a clear coat of polish on my nails. I mean, I had standards. Not so much anymore.

These days, if I have a moment to page through those types of magazines (usually in a therapist's waiting room), the following thoughts run through my head: 

• Do I still even have nail polish? Oh right, I have those globby, sticky bottles that have been under the sink for 3 years or so. And also that atrocity we put on my daughter - bubble gum pink with glitter, sparkles and maybe even confetti. I wonder...
• Great dress. If only I had the life for it.
• My hair could do that if I was brave enough to use my awesome flattening iron - but a trip to the emergency room would follow because without question one of my children would intentionally or unintentionally (depends which kid) scorch themselves. Oh well.

And finally:

• All of this takes too damn long. I need to write up my tried and tested makeup application process for real-life moms like me (bless your hearts). So here it is:

Red-Light Makeover for Whac-A-Mole Moms 

***DVD release TBA

SETUP AND SUPPLIES
IMPORTANT: Check that your shoes match BEFORE you leave home. Everything else can be done en route. Unfortunately, if you are still wearing slippers or your tights are navy and not black - you're on your own. (Fine - stop at Target on the way. Been there; done that.)

• All makeup supplies must remain in your car. Center consoles of minivans work perfectly. If a particular item is running low, fish around under the back seat to locate a replacement.
• Eyelash curlers, eyeliner and multiple layers of makeup...who are you kidding?
• Tweezers, however, are a necessity. Because, trust me, you will never see more strays than in your car's lighted visor mirror. If this doesn't bother you or all you see is perfection...you go, girl! However, since my haircuts and eyebrow waxing are on an emergency-basis only, some slight maintenance the other 6-12 months is advised.
• Multipurpose makeup sticks are your best friend. Find a brand you like, find a color you love (me - NARS the Multiple in Malibu) and don't look back. This one is worth the splurge.
• I love "smart shade" type foundations.You know, the ones that supposedly change color on your face. They barely do anything, but that means fewer, unacceptable makeup lines. If you're splattering foundation on while driving, you'll definitely want something with minimal attention required. Restock those baby wipes in the car to clean your hands off  - before and after application, please. I don't want your face cream on me when we shake hands, thank you very much.
• Summer can be tricky because sandals require well-groomed toes. Select closed-toe shoes to skip this step. Peep-toe shoes also work because you just need to polish 1 to 2 1/2 toenails on each foot; why waste time on the others? Nail polish pens rock the car makeover!

SAFETY RULES

• Do NOT do any of this while your car is actually in motion - no matter how late you are. Be smart. You will look a lot less pretty if you crash. It will be horrifying, stupid and really, really embarrassing. But feel free to take the long way - and definitely avoid highways (no traffic lights).
• Multitasking is great, but you still need to keep an eye on the light and other cars. Do not overdo it by texting, drinking hot coffee or talking to your boss while applying your makeup at stops. I mean, we all know it can be done, but it can't be good.
• Don't let your child see you do any of this or you will deeply regret it when they are learning to drive and follow your example (and call you on your bad behavior when you yell at them to stop).
• Disclaimer: I can't help much with your hair. I know I've left the house more than once without looking in the mirror. A supply of hair elastics in the car is critical! (True story - once I actually flat-ironed my hair in the car before a work event...using my minivan's handy, AC inverter. NO, NOT WHILE DRIVING, YOU NUT! Seriously, where would you even get such an idea?)

STEP-BY-STEP INSTRUCTIONS

• Prioritize. Where are you going and how much time do you have? How many lights are there? Is the parking lot at your destination private enough to finish the job? If you're meeting a client, don't let them see you applying mascara in the parking lot...it's just tacky. Au naturale is better.
• First light: Base. Start with the smart-shade foundation or a light powder - nothing clumpy. Important step for me because lack of sleep since 2001 has resulted in perma-splotchy skin and under-eye circles. Yuck.
• Next light: Lipstick. This one's important. Shade should be light enough that it won't stain and is easy to apply. I recently read about some new, clear lip-liners on the market. Brilliant. Must remember to grab one next time I'm at the pharmacy (always).
• Next light: Mascara. You know what to do - but you only get one try and one coat. That's all the time you have! (You might also have to tweeze now, if you're like me and noticed some annoying rebellious eyebrow hairs).
• Next light: Check your work including your teeth to be sure your lipstick didn't end up there. Remember to check hair for stray cereal flakes (in a crunch, that moisturizing cream that you bought a year ago but never brought in the house can double as hair gloss). 

And you're done. You look mah-velous. Or at least good enough for that IEP meeting.

What have YOU done on the road that you never before imagined you would? Looking forward to funny stories and more tips from my fellow red-light beauties. Please enter them below!