Willow dressed for the Mommy and Me Tea

Thanks to the clever musings of my super-talented Southern MOMentum writer-friend, Stephanie Armstrong, I can take the rest of the weekend off. She's given me a great post that I'm sure you'll enjoy; consider it my Mother's Day gift to you, if you're a mom, and some very good advice if you are married to a mom.

I am sort of working today: I'm guest-blogging over at TheWorksofGodDisplayed.com, a wonderful blog dedicated to special needs ministry in churches, so if you'd like to read about my experience with "angels," give that one a look.

In the meantime, please forward the following to everyone in your family, but particularly your kids' father ...

10 Things To Avoid On Mother's Day

by Stephanie Armstrong of Southern MOMentum

This is what Willow did when the teacher asked the group, "Who has the best mommy!" FYI, that *is* me she's running to.

If there is one thing I have learned about being a mom, it’s not about what you receive on this, *ahem* … magical day. It’s about what to avoid. I thought I would rival our very own The Life of Dad daddy blogger with a follow up from his Things to Avoid on Fathers Day. Let’s just call it a subtle wish list of our own …

Number 1: The term “Go ask your mom.” We’ve got it covered the other 364 days. Today is all you.

Number 2: Any mentions of Halle Berry’s figure or Jessica Biel’s abs. You may have forgotten. I am not your college roommate.

Number 3: Conversations starting with “So what did you do all day…?” You may not live to see Father’s Day.

Number 4: Anything on TV that involves World War II or the letters E.S.P.N.

Number 5: Bodily fluids of any kind. This includes the daily deposit from the cat.

Number 6: Attempts of escaping (alone) to Home Depot or the golf course. Not happenin’.

Number 7: Having to wear anything made from silk or scratchy lace. Newsflash: We like cotton.

Number 8: Any contact with wadded-up, inside-out socks or the mountain they lie in.

Number 9: High fives or any conversation involving the Panther’s #1 draft pick. (see rule #4)

Number 10: Any mention of NOT spending money. You want to put a permanent smile on our faces? Hand over the Visa.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

Today, I'm guest-blogging for one of my favorite writer-moms and tweeps, SippyCupMom. I hope you'll drop by on our little soiree, leave a comment to say "Hi!" and thank her for her ongoing support for Autism Awareness Month!

My post for SippyCupMom: "Autism is a marathon, not a sprint ..."

Also, don't forget to enter our giveaway of a FREE DVD of the award-winning and uplifting film LOVING LAMPPOSTS: LIVING AUTISTIC. DETAILS HERE.

AND ... You can also still enter our giveaway of the Scentsy Piece by Piece Warmer, which also helps raise funds for the Autism Speaks organization. DETAILS HERE.

I'm guest-blogging today at one of my favorite sites, Southern MOMentum. They picked up one of my posts about "Getting Back to Work," something I've been trying to figure out for the past year.

Why do I love this site and the hilarious girls who write it? Oh, let me count the ways ... first of all, they have a clever name. They are committed to "inspiring moms to hit their stride," which is as worthy a blog aspiration as I can imagine. The writers are all funny, smart and as sweet as a glass of iced tea (made the way iced tea SHOULD be made, with sugar). But most importantly, I love them because this is the way they see me:

It's like looking into a mirror!

The "S" is for "special needs." Please stop by and visit me and my Super Friends at Southern MOMentum.

Kick off your shoes, sister. You'll immediately feel better.

That image at the left is supposed to be someone's idea of "overworked woman." You know why she's not really THAT overworked? Because she still cares enough to wear high heels.

Recently, Billy was doing his looking-at-catalogs-while-on-the-potty routine and pointed to a picture of a foot in really high heels. "What is it?" he asked me. Clearly, he doesn't see this image a lot.

"That's a lady's foot in pretty high-heeled shoes," I explained.

"That's Miss Elyse," he told me, describing his cute grad student ABA therapist, the only woman he's seen in recent memory who hasn't given up on the idea of stilettos.

Anyway, you may have noticed that I haven't posted a lot recently. I'm in the midst of a huge freelance writing project that's going to allow me to pay Miss Elyse's bill, and all the others that go along with autism therapy, and even take the kids to Disney on New Year's Eve.

So forgive my sporadic posting over the next few weeks, but please do check out BIG DADDY AUTISM, where he has kindly posted something I wrote a while back, but still means a great deal to me: The Denis Leary Spectrum.

BigDaddyAutism.com

There are a few things I try to do every day: bathe, feed my children, and read Big Daddy's blog. BigDaddyAutism writes about life with the Big Daddy family, which includes himself, Mrs. Big Daddy, his son, Griffin -- who happens to be autistic -- and Griffin's Lil' Sis. Not only does each wonderful post highlight the ups and downs of parenting on the spectrum, but he makes me laugh coffee out of my nose at least five times a week. I've mentioned to BD before that his heartwarming and hilarious stories about Griffin, who's currently thriving in middle school, sometimes make me think (and hope) I'm getting a glimpse of my Billy's future.

Billy has only just started asking questions. Today's guest post from Big Daddy is a perfect example of what I can imagine in our future ...

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When Amanda asked me to guest post on her blog, my first thought was that there must be some sort of mistake. She must've meant to e-mail Allie Brosh from "Hyperbole and a Half" with her 4 million visitors a month. Once I confirmed that it was actually Big Daddy, with my 6 semi-loyal (and completely deranged) readers that Amanda was looking for, I was honored. And horrified. And hungry. (I'm always hungry)

It's okay for me to spend 20 minutes banging out some moderately funny story about my 13 year old autistic son for my own blog. But I needed to present something a little more, how shall I put it, "good" for Amanda's blog. So I decided to pull out a post I am particularly proud of which went up on my blog on its second or third day in existence. It is a nice glimpse into how I think my son's mind works and, back then I actually put some time and effort into my posts. Besides, my mother-in-law was my only visitor in those days, so this post is like brand spanking new to everyone in the world except Big Nana and myself. So, please enjoy .....

This is a food item that deserves repeated conversation!

Mexican Pizza

Occasionally, Griffin, out of nowhere, will just blurt out selections from a school lunch menu he may have been studying weeks earlier. It is not unusual for us to be driving, having a conversation which does not involve him, and hear Griffin yell, “Mexican Pizza!” or "Chicken Sandwich!" from the backseat.

It’s not like he wanted Mexican Pizza or a Chicken Sandwich for lunch, nor was it remotely related to what we were talking about - he just felt the need to say it. Like a living, breathing pop-up ad, he does this frequently with all sorts of nouns, verbs, and adjectives. I bet Griffin’s spontaneity, brevity, and randomness would make him hugely successful on Twitter.

Mrs. Big Daddy and I often wonder what’s going on inside Griffin's head. She sometimes describes her theory using the analogy of an old style office Rolodex. The cards inside his mind are furiously spinning around and around. Occasionally the Rolodex stops for an instant and Griffin will blurt out whatever thought is on the selected card. Then the Rolodex starts to spin again.

I think of the bouncing balls the State Lottery uses to pick the Lotto numbers on Saturday nights. All the ping pong balls bounce around in the air chamber. One finally pops out and that’s Griffin’s thought for the moment.

Either way, it’s pretty hectic in there.

Tonight, on the way to dinner, Griffin got me to join in on this madness. Our conversation went like this.

Griffin: "Daddy, I ask you a question?"

Me: "Sure Griff."

Griffin: "Say 'Fake'."

Me: "Fake."

Griffin: "Why you say 'Fake', Daddy?"

Me: "Argh."

Griffin: "Why you say 'Argh', Daddy?"

I think this exchange sums up our life with Griffin pretty well.