So, The Swimmy has been on her medication for a week now. The best way for me to describe this week is to tell you I've gotten my little Swimmy back. I cannot tell you what a difference this little blue pill with sprinkles inside has made.

I will tell you that the first day she took it I watched her like a hawk for any signs of strange side effects. I think I might have been waiting for her to sprout wings or perhaps vote democratic. Neither happened, thank goodness. We had some minor appetite loss around lunch time, but she more than made up for that in snack and dinner.

What amazed me the most was to watch her outwardly manage her impulsivity. The best examples came in her language. We'd be in the middle of some kind of family activity full of hustling and bustling and just as she was about to pop off with some random thought that would have normally gone directly from her brain to her tongue and out her mouth with no filter - she stopped herself. A few times she actually said, "Wait. Oh. Never mind."

The first time it happened I think she surprised herself. She got this look on her face like, "Whoa. Did I say that? No? Huh." I just smiled and hugged her.

What was weird was how calm she really was. We had to get used to the fact that she wasn't bouncing off the walls like she normally does. "Normal" now has a new definition - one closer to the way it should be. My dad remarked (and was really concerned) that she seemed sedated. I can understand why he thought that - for seven years she's been a ball of spitfire, energy and constant motion. We've come to know her like that. But what we've come to know now is a little girl who still is cute and sweet and smart - but is also a bit more in control.

She's not as anxious. She hears and listens. She proactively thinks a few (not many, but a few) steps ahead. The noise in her head is quieter. Now she can focus on things like her math tutoring - and as she succeeds she feels better about herself and actually ASKS to do her work. SHE's reminding US.

I know there are many who believe medication is a terrible answer. There are many who look at me like I'm insane that we've made this decision. I don't care. Not one bit. Everyone gets to parent their children as they see fit, but I love her way too much to let her struggle when she doesn't have to. And I'm just glad to have my Swimmy back.

You may remember that in times of random, uh, randomness, I tend to sell things. Like, oh, say, my house.

Well. Has anyone seen gas prices lately? Yes? Right.

GOODBYE SUV loveliness. Hello practicality.

But I've skipped ahead.

A week ago I did the math on what I was spending for my car. This totally included the car payment and the gas each month. The total was over $1000.

And then my head exploded.

I had a lovely car. Really. Very cool. Very now. Totally tricked out. It was a nice car. A nice car that cost way too much and thanks to the lovely taxes levied upon the oil & gas companies (*cough* RED STATE *cough*) it was time to make a tough decision. It was time to sell.

Hmmm... sell a huge SUV with moderate gas mileage in the middle of rising gas prices? An interesting challenge. But, it was worth a shot, right? What's the worst that could happen? "NO"? Whatever.

So, I listed it. For what I owed (no sense getting greedy). I got two phone calls within a week. And I was amazed. One family was truly interested and we negotiated for a day or so and, well, it sold. She paid a little more than she wanted to and I lost a little bit, but in the end? Wow. I sold it. Husband thinks I should write a book. He also worries I might sell other things out from under him and regularly checks his ass now.

And today I did something I've never done before. I bought a car on the internet sight unseen. (Okay, I had test driven a similar car earlier, but didn't lay hands or eyes on this particular one.) And you know what? I'm thrilled.

I cut my payment to shreds. The car gets great gas mileage without succumbing to the tree-hugging (and expensive!) hybrids - and it's fast and fun. Fifty gazillion other people own this car so I am squarely in ho hum America by owning this, but man, it sure feels good to get the budget back on track again.

There is one small problem, though. Benjamin has gotten used to the fact that a DVD player was part of his daily commute. This is no longer the case. The whining has reached Olympic skill levels.

Perhaps with the money I'm saving I can buy some more wine for the whine.

Today The Swimmy started her medication for ADHD. (Wait. Did I remember to tell you she was officially diagnosed? Oh. Uh. She was. Am psychic.)

After a long discussion with the pediatrician about what my understandings and expectations of the available medication are, one was chosen. I was happy to see that the nurse practitioner who specializes in following the kids with this issue was knowledgeable and thorough in her questioning of Swimmy's eating, sleeping, health and social habits.

I was very clear with the pediatrician on the phone a few days earlier that under NO circumstances is there to be any use of the words "Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder", "ADHD" or anything related to this issue in front of her right now. If we have to we will speak in pig latin to keep this away from her. There is no need for a seven year old to know anything more than we went to see a special doctor, played some games and answered some questions and checked to see if she had a "race car brain".

She has a race car brain. She also knows that sometimes her thoughts get a little jumbled in her head and sometimes she says things she doesn't really mean to say. She also forgets some stuff and gets a little confused about lists of things. That's it. This is all she knows.

I don't want the label for her right now. I don't want her to start thinking she "has" something. That is no way for a seven year old to define herself. She should define herself an awesome reader. A great dancer. A sweet sister. A good friend. The Swimmy.

For the record, she is taking Focalin XR. I chose this for the long-acting effects and minimal side effects. I was very clear that whatever she was going to take was to be the lowest, most conservative dose. And, most importantly, I didn't want her to lose her "spark".

Unlike media reports, I am a strong believer in medication for this. This is not a behavioral disorder. It is brain-based. And because of that there needs to be a chemical component to this to make up for the biological deficiency. No different from the Lithium a bi-polar patient needs - this is but one of a few therapies that will help her be successful.

She will also always be on some sort of drug therapy. I will make sure of that. This disorder cannot be outgrown, but it can be managed well and medication is key to that. I see people who've refused to take the really effective medications available for this and their life is a mess. No life should be that complicated or that hard. This is not a crutch out of weakness - it is a necessity no different than wearing your glasses if you have bad eyesight.

We will also work with her in a social skills group for kids her age so that she can sharpen her toolkit on interpersonal relationships. Often times kids with ADD/ADHD need some help understanding that there are TWO people in a friendship and that other person has feelings and interests different than their own.

(Actually, there are some "normal" adults I'd like to send to that group in the hopes they would become less asshat and more human.)

It's been a long road getting here. And there's a long road ahead. Along the way there will be challenges I know about and can anticipate and some about which I have no idea. But I know where I want it to end - a happy, healthy, well-adjusted woman who can make good decisions (not just easy ones), recognize an unhealthy person or relationship -- and create and participate in a healthy relationship.

But for now I'd be happy if she hangs up her wet towel after she bathes. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Okay, I have NO idea what the fuck happened around here yesterday. NONE. But! Thanks again to my Romanian IT department, we're back now. Mostly. Good enough!

Here's the thing.

When I started this little adventure, I was on Blogger. Then I moved to TypePad because it, quite frankly, looked prettier. But I wanted more design control and eventually the lovely Miss Zoot moved me to MT and whipped up this lovely purple design for me.

But I can't manage the technology any more and I don't have the time to grab some classes to figure it out. And, yes, I would have to take classes. I can't read to learn.

So I want to go back to TypePad, but have no idea how to find someone who can help migrate me, uh, backwards. I've got many years of crap built up here and I don't want to lose it. And the purple stays.

Anyone got any ideas?

Dear Benjamin,

As your mother, I'd like to request that you stop trying to kill me. Seriously. This has been quite a month. As you can see by the numerical month, you are about to be a Two Year Old. You've spent the better part of the month giving us a sneak preview of this magical time in a toddler's life - and we are not amused.

There has been much whining, fussing, hitting and foot stomping the past few weeks. Changing your diaper has become a wrestling match the WWF ought to record as a case study. There is no eating of meat, chicken or fish - or for that matter any food that just seems weird to you. You are currently surviving on yogurt, yogurt snacks, cheese and any number of a variety of fruit cups. Once your favorite, pasta is now dead to you. You only drink water if I mix a smidgen of orange Gatorade into it to make it taste better.

Taking all the above into account, you seemed to be on the brink of some kind of developmental frustration over the past few weeks, so I decided to test a few things out to see if you would, indeed, rise to the challenge. I'd also like to add that all of the following happened within one week. Make a note of it.

First, Daddy and I wrestled with whether or not we should move you out of your crib. You weren't actively trying to climb out, but it just seemed like you were outgrowing it. We worried, because you room is at the top of the stairs, that you might try to climb out and jimmy the babygate no one is impressed with and end up on the stairs in the middle of the night. On the other hand, we worried that, lacking a crib/baby defense, you'd try to climb the gate for your room and, yet again, end up on the stairs. Turns out you love your toddler bed. You were more bothered by the gate keeping you in your room than losing the crib. You even waved goodbye to it as I rolled it out.

One down.

That mild headache you have continuously throughout the day is a result of me bumping your head on the top of the car as I try valiantly to lift you into your carseat that you were sadly growing too big and too tiresome for. So, off to Target we went to get you a brand new, non-five-point-harness booster seat "just like Sissy's". You loved it instantly and beamed from the backseat pointing back and forth to Swimmy's seat and yours in comparison. Yes, my love, you are a Big Boy.

That's two.

And finally, you've had a mild milk allergy since you were born. The pedicatrician said you would one day grow out of it and to try periodically to switch you from soy milk to regular milk and see how it goes. Everything was great for about four days - then your eczema showed up again. FAIL.

Well, two outta three ain't bad.

This month you started swimming lessons (which you love), camp (you also love) and went on a trip to Galveston with the family and Dodi & Zayde. You had a ball. You aren't a fan of the beach and sand, but you adored the pool You wanted to do everything sissy was doing - or not doing. You looked longingly at the big water slide at the hotel pool, but you weren't tall enough to ride it. That ended well. It's still a little hard to travel with you because of your need to nap, but you made some great memories with your Dodi & Zayde this trip - and that's worth all the frustration.

Your speech and language are growing every week. You are now using two word phrases fairly regularly and are working so hard on gathering new words every day. It all started in the ball pit at your speech therapy class. You wanted me in the pit with you. So..."Mommy in!" And there it was. A little BenjaMoment. You got applause.

Your favorite thing to do is animal sounds. One night you were sitting next to me quietly saying them as you watched a Baby Einstein DVD about the farm. A cow came on the screen and to yourself you said, "MMMMM." Then a sheep came on and you turned your head to my right ear and screamed, "BAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!" I yelped and screamed, "OH, MY G-D!" it was so loud it hurt my ear. Then you smiled at me and said, "Ba." Quietly.

Right. A Sheep. A QUIET G-DAMMNED SHEEP.

You love to play outside and are unbelievably physically coordinated. You have figured out how to ride a three-wheeled scooter that was your sister's. You on a bright pink Barbie scooter is quite a sight. In the blink of an eye you are up and on top of anything you can climb on - a shocking revelation to your camp counselors on day one.

You love to feed the ducks. The ducks now know our house we feed them so much and nothing tickles you more than to see them come wandering up our driveway. The dog feels differently, but she apparently doesn't get a vote.

Oh, Benjamin. Your energy for this world is boundless. I've never seen anyone eat life the way you do. As many mental images as I have of you running towards me with your arms outstretched, I have as many watching your blonde curls bounce in the sunlight as you run the other direction trying to grab the next piece of adventure. Thanks for letting me be a part of it, but, if you don't mind, let's stop and rest together every now and then.

Love,
Mommy

Our Father's Day celebration went a bit old skool this year: a little sun, a little grillin', a whole lotta watermelon, and...a watermelon seed spitting contest.

And then some friends showed up after hearing all the commotion -- and all hell broke loose.

Benjamin decided he loved the ducks so much he wanted to hug them. They disagreed.

All in all it was a good day. I hope you and yours created some memories of your own.

I read a piece of advice from Maggie on Heather's site, "When I was single, I decided I wouldn't marry a man unless I could be proud if we had a son who turned out exactly like him." I couldn't agree more. Your father's a role model for your husband, your husband's the blue print for your son.

I win on both.

The Swimmy did a "paper" on the lifecycle of a butterfly. It was two pages, single-spaced, in seven year-old meticulous handwriting. She and two other classmates were chosen to read their papers to the principal, assistant principal and counselor. It was a Very Big Deal.

Along with the paper was an arts and crafts project to drive the learning points home. Below is a portion of her work.

Yep. We couldn't be prouder of our academic superstar. That's my girl!

There are certain milestones in a child's life that mark some sort of momentous ending of one phase and beginning of another. With the first child, each one is important, documented, cherished. Or, in some cases, full of tears, fear and longing.

You would think with the second child it would be a bit easier. You would be kinda wrong.

I say kinda because there is no anticipation anxiety. There is little "unknown" with number two. It's more a matter of "when" vs. "what".

Today Benjamin slept in his toddler bed for the first time. Today I rolled his crib out of his room. Today was the last day a crib will be used in this house. And today, just like five years ago with Swimmy, I was sad.

Today's sad had the extra side order of Lightly Sauteed Mourning because while Swimmy was done with her crib for the time being, I knew someone else later on would be using it and I'd see a little face peering over the guard rail smiling a toothless grin one day.

But this time it's permanent. This time I heard the distinct sound of large metal doors slamming shut and a heavy deadbolt being thrown to lock them. And it made my heart a little heavier.

Every day it's getting harder to call him my Baby. Every day he looks more and more like a little Boy. And today, looking at him snuggling in that bed for the first time, I saw in his face an older Benjamin - a Bar Mitzvah Benjamin, a high-school Benjamin - a man.

I almost wheeled that crib right back in the room. But I didn't.

I just tucked his Elmo under his arm and kissed his sleeping head. Then I prayed he'd still take his two hour nap. This shit takes it out of me.

There are some people who have a need to go mach 5 with their ass on fire down a mountain. Or skateboard down a stairway rail. Or drive a race car. I have no interest in those things that could land me in a hospital.

But I understand it.

I've come to understand that I am an adrenaline junkie, but of a different sort. I am addicted to the Deal. There is nothing more thrilling to me than the Pursuit of a deal -- or more recently, a gift. The strategy, the plan, mitigating the risk - or deciding to take it anyway. Working the relationships. Making the connections. Networking. Figuring out how to get the "Yes". Seeing the payoff -- and actually getting it.

There is nothing like it.

This "retirement" thing is turning out to be challenging. Opportunities have presented themselves weekly and my inner junkie is SCREAMING to take them on. All of them. I am struggling with the balance of "Hey, there are some kids here -- and they need to play bubbles" with "Oooohhhh.... that opportunity is unbelievable and I'm insane not to look at it."

Today was a brutal reminder of what a loaded work schedule can do. I had a lunch meeting for a business opportunity. I have spent a good deal of time today on and off the computer -- not unlike my previous "real job". For the first time in a while, I saw Benjamin get frustrated for not having my full attention - and it bothered me.

There has got to be a way to do both. Right? Surely.

But, man, I haven't figured it out yet. I'm kind of afraid I may not figure it out at all and for the first time ever I'm going to have to say no to opportunity.

Is there a 12 step program for that one?

So this little writing gig I scored? Has now turned into a column. And the Editor wans me to name it, but after four days at the beach, "Dude, Food." is about all I got right now.

Help me out.