September 14, 2015 by Born To Organize

How to Make Sandwiches and Other Absurdities

Thursday my son announced that he would be moving into the dorms several days earlier than planned. He received an email that day from university housing saying that “students with disabilities” would move in on the 15th. I couldn’t wrap my head around this piece of news. We’ve been mentally preparing for the big day for months. This really threw me off my game. When I asked to see the email, my heart sank. The woman in charge of disability resources at the university is the same woman who thwarted our efforts to get our young son the help he needed in grade school. She’s made life difficult for many families over the years, including ours.

My son was too young to know any of this at the time and there is no reason to share it with him now as he leaves home for the first time. He’s blissfully unaware of the drama she put us through and will have no such bias when he meets with her and the other students this Friday. Seeing her name in the email, however flooded me with painful memories and the trauma of those grade school years. As my brilliant young man joins the ranks of other college students this fall, it’s a relief to know that he can do more than make a sandwich.

Here’s our story

The End: The part of a story where you tie up the loose ends, bringing the tale to a satisfying conclusion. Anyone familiar with special education knows that the end is only as good as your next Individualized Education Plan known as an IEP.

IEP’s are not the escapism novel you long to read but instead a series of required readings whose endings leave you feeling flat and defeated. Our oldest son has Asperger’s Syndrome, an Autism Spectrum Disorder. It took an ever-increasing series of professionals’ years to define the perplexing symptoms. It was a long and painful journey.

The Flashback is the chapter where we learn a little about our protagonist. Though we bought our home a year before having kids, a good school district figured prominently on our list of general requirements. We planned to start a family and we wanted to stay put while we raised them.

Life rarely plays out like the plot you’ve been thickening, and the first draft was no exception. My precious first-born was strong but fussy. He struggled to nurse and wore a serious expression a lot of the time. He cried upon waking and in the early toddler years he could tantrum for an hour without stopping. It was exhausting and frightening too, but the pediatrician and well-meaning in-laws assured us this was all perfectly normal. My son walked at a year, spoke at two, and generally hit the typical milestones on schedule. He started pre-school at age 3 for a few hours a day at a warm and loving Montessori school. Separation was painful for him every day; it never improved as all the experts predicted. His intense behavior continued, but because he had a younger brother at home, everyone said that was the obvious source of his displeasure.

He started hiding all his underwear and socks in a drawer, assuming we wouldn’t take him to school without them. He became increasingly resistant to anything outside his small comfort zone.

We eventually sought the help of a pediatric psychologist. His first diagnosis was Oppositional Defiance Disorder or ODD, coupled with sensory integration dysfunction. From there we saw an education specialist who diagnosed his suspected auditory processing disorder with intense hyperacusis along with the sensory issues and possibly neurological tics. I would soon be hauling out my dictionary in the hopes of understanding such terms as vestibular system and proprioception. I have a three-inch binder, plump with reports from psychologists, neurologists, neuro-psychologists and psychiatrists; pediatric occupational therapists, a speech pathologist, an audiologist and a woman who specializes in neurofeedback. One doctor said he had ADHD, and then depression coupled with anxiety. Neurological tics were initially ruled out; later ruled back in. The audiologist discovered that our precious boy fell into the abnormal range in four areas of auditory processing. He sailed through his Kindergarten hearing test, which we later learned simply proved he could hear. He couldn’t process the auditory input, but his ears worked fine. By grade three we enrolled him in our public school. His brilliant and dedicated young teacher actually came to our home to meet us to help with our son’s difficult transition. We were hopeful and grateful but filled with trepidation all the same. Districts have 56 days to complete an evaluation and to offer an IEP. Although we approached the district in late spring, they told us nothing would happen until at least October. Our son spent nearly two months in a new school before services could be offered. After the school’s testing, they only offered him speech.

He had a successful third grade year, but paced alone on the pavement during lunch and recess for both semesters, ending the year as he started it without a single friend. Fourth grade was harder as we continued to seek solutions to make his world work a little better and by fifth grade it was nearly impossible to get him into the car to go to school. I poured over a resource book of schools in our area and we interviewed and observed at several private ones. It was clear none of them would work. His doctor kept experimenting with various anti-anxiety medications, including one that elevated his triglycerides and brought about a significant weight gain. We started neuro-feedback, revisited the neurologist at the request of his doctor and agonized over the misery that was his day-to-day life. I was now carrying my cell phone wherever I went, anticipating the dreaded calls from the principal. Our troubled boy had started to run out of the classroom and hide. When the principal caught up with him, he told her he would have run home if his conscience had let him. Then he told her he wished he was dead.

At last, we found the Newton Program at Pine Hill. Although his doctor still didn’t think our son was on the spectrum, he suggested we take a look. We loved what we saw and were anxious to have our son ‘shadow’ for a few hours. The director of the program said ‘bring him to me; I’ll be able to tell you in five minutes if he’ll be successful here.’ So we did. We went for a two hours trial run and within the first twenty minutes my sweet boy came up to me and said “Mom, I want to go to school here.” I will never forget that moment. We finally found a home!

Good stories need conflict. We had that in spades.

We called an emergency IEP meeting and requested placement in the Newton Program. I naively assumed the district would be happy to have us off their hands and safely in a program that could adequately meet his needs. The woman in charge of special education in our district told me disparagingly that they would never place a child in ‘that program’ and that if all we wanted was for our son to come out ‘knowing how to make sandwiches’ then we could go right ahead. We were absolutely stunned!

They refused placement, other than conditional, and continued to research their own options. My nerves were so frazzled at this point that I started crying in the meeting and couldn’t stop. I asked Mike to step out of the room with me and we convened in a supply closet to regroup. I told him I was mad, not sad, but the tears were a physical reaction to what felt like a slap in the face. Enough. We went home and hired an advocate.

After waiting eight days for answers from the district we sent a formal notification of our intent to place our son at Pine Hill. We said that through our own investigations, we had discovered the Newton Program, had met their team, observed their classes and had successfully had our son shadow with a class for two hours during a regular school day. The director of the program concurs that this would be an appropriate placement for him. In light of the current situation at our district school (continued meltdowns, inability to focus and complete class work, threats of running away to name a few) and a lack of other options, we believe this placement to be the most appropriate for our son at this time. They countered with a recommended placement in a school one town over for students with emotional disorders, which we rejected. Finally they agreed to a three-month placement, but only if we “waived the stay put clause under California Ed Code 56505(d).” They fought with us to the bitter end, finally conceded knowing our next step would be a legal one. One month later, the woman who made our lives so difficult resigned from our district.

Our son attended Pine Hill from 5th to 8th grade. He lost weight, his blood sugar returned to normal, and within one week of attending Pine Hill, an EEG showed his level of anxiety dropped from 49 to 5%! He made friends and received birthday invitations. Once bullied, he was now among peers that looked up to him. He attended daily social thinking classes and self-evaluated his own behavior several times throughout his school day to reinforce the social skills he’s acquired. What phenomenal growth.

We had one more challenge with the district. They eventually started a program for children on the spectrum in his 8th grade year. They wanted to bring him back into the district (it would save them money) and while we applaud their efforts, we did not want to move him to a middle school for one year. It would be hard enough to move a typically developed child to a new school for one year, only to transition them again the following year. We had to agree to have him visit the new program for an hour.

Our sweet boy stoically visited the program for the required hour while I nervously waited to pick him up. He was tired and ready to go home.

I asked him to write a letter that night to explain how he was feeling and to thank the director of the new program.

(Names changed for privacy)

Dear Mr. Smith,

While I really enjoyed the tour I am afraid I must decline your offer. It is nothing personal I simply am better suited at Pine Hill. Please send my regards to Ana and Alex. I hope we will meet again.

Sincerely C.

We faced this last district struggle, battled-scared and wiser and our son stayed put.

The Beginning.

September 10, 2015 by Born To Organize

A Walk Through the Garden: The Drought Addition

It’s hard gardening in a drought.

It’s equally hard writing a blog about it without sounding all gloom and doom. (I’m saving my gloom and doom posts for Halloween).

Since we’ve all had it up to here with the drought, the heat, the save-the-air alerts and the raging fires here in California, writing about it seems as drab as my former lawn.

Bougainvillea love the dry heat. Lush lawns are a thing of the past.

Today, I’m shaking things up a bit with a garden video show and tell.

I created the video tour using my mobile phone with my family’s help. Mike followed me around the garden and took video, and my son, Mac edited the clips for the final production.

Instead of tidying up before the guests arrive, I present to you my unadulterated, much-loved, brown around the edges garden.

Without further ado, Gardening Nirvana: The Drought Addition

September 8, 2015 by Born To Organize

A Challenging Week

Do you ever write blog posts in your head?

I did that last week, craving the time and the mental bandwidth to free my thoughts with the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard. I knew my blog would be waiting for me but I missed it nonetheless. My idol keyboard tugged at my random thoughts, yet they declined to heed its call.

Put simply it was a long and trying week.

Last Monday I suited up in one-size-fits-no-one scrubs for a long-awaited MRI. Chronic and still un-diagnosed foot pain landed me in the clinic for this joyless procedure.

Have you ever had an MRI? The machine is loud enough to require earplugs, and a bit daunting in size and scope. It’s a fabulous diagnostic tool, but not something you want to incorporate into your day. I went in with a sore foot, and came home with that same sore foot and an aching back. In my next life I’m going to design medical equipment with a modicum of comfort in mind.

Although the results of the tests are available in two days, your doctor determines when you can see them. I dutifully made my appointment for late this week. They will not release my test results unless I meet with my doctor. Welcome to the American healthcare system.

Throughout the past several months my foot has been on the pointy end of a cortisone shot not to mention several acupuncture needles. I’ve tried heat and ice, massage, mobilization, manipulation and ultrasound, electrical stimulation and targeted exercises. They took a peek under the hood with a diagnostic x-ray and finally the MRI. This foot of mine has been the subject of speculation in my Pilates class and has received enough attention to warrant its own Facebook page. I fear that with all that attention my foot will only continue to swell.

Next up was a trip to the vet. Two of the three resident felines were due for a checkup. It’s kind of long story, but two of the kitties remain close to home thanks to our cat-fence enclosed yard. Mr. M. technically has a home, but prefers to eat, sleep, drink and make merry at our place, also known as the home for spoiled and wayward cats. It was his turn to go to the vet.

I’ve been taking cats to the vet for years, so I’ve learned a thing or two along the way. I try to keep it on the down low, hiding the cat carriers in the garage till go-time. Then I execute my stealth move: in one fell swoop I scoop up the cat, bow the head toward the chest, slip the cat into the carrier and close the door before they thinks about exposing teeth or claws.

So carriers at the ready, Mr. M. manages to slip out the back door and disappear at the appointed hour. I kitty-kitty-kitty him in my sincerest voice, shake bags of treats, walk up and down the street and even venture one block over. Nothing. I sit quietly on the garden swing (how can he resist) and still nothing. I realize that I’m going to be late.

I place a compliant Lindy into the carrier, then decide to take Slinky in Mr. M’s place and off we go. I arrive 15 minutes late, then wait another 15 minutes, and now I’m too late to see the vet who is about to start surgical rounds. Reluctantly I leave Lindy and Slinky in the vet’s care to be seen later in the day between rounds. Then I head to see my first client of the day.

Fast forward through two days, three round trips to the vet, multiple phone calls and a sleepless night and both kitties are finally back home. Lindy checked out well. Slinky on the other hand, who was at the vet by default, has a heart murmur, elevated thyroid and a painful and worrying hard growth on her spine. They said she cried out in pain with the exam so ordered an x-ray. Those results were inconclusive. She’s now home and on two medications, one to control her thyroid and the other to help with pain and inflammation. She goes back in another week to be sure her kidneys can tolerate the medication. My poor, sweet kitty.

Thursday my son announced that he would be moving into the dorms several days earlier than planned. He received an email that day from university housing saying that “students with disabilities” would move in on the 15th. I was stunned. We’ve been mentally preparing for the big day for months, and this news really threw me for a loop. When I asked to see the email, my heart sank. We have a painful and troubled relationship with the sender, one that dates back to grade school. I’ve been softly weeping on the back steps, trying to keep my feelings to myself. My son never met her, but she caused our family a good deal of grief. I’ll share in more detail when I can muster some emotional clarity. Right now I feel raw.

A week from today he’ll be off. Careful preparations have brought us to this day. I know he’s ready. I’m trying to ease the remnants of our traumatic past that continue to ricochet against my heavy heart. I want to be fully present when he crosses the threshold into the next chapter of his life.

August 26, 2015 by Born To Organize

Falling for Halloween

Monday is August 31st.

Guess what that means?

Halloween is only two months away! October 31st heralds the arrival of wee trick-or-treaters and the heady, intoxicating fall air.

I’m ready.

If you’ve been hanging out with me for a while you’ll know that autumn is my favorite time of year. I love growing and decorating with pumpkins, planning or attending costume parties, helping my son “spookify” the front yard and tossing treats into wee little bags on Halloween night. The changing of the seasons is more of a slow burn in California. The days shorten and the stale summer air finally gives way to the smog-free version I long for. By the calendar, autumn arrives in late September, but it’s not till mid-October that we start to notice the difference.

In the garden, the signs are everywhere.

Lone Pumpkin Turns Orange

The pantyhose trick is keeping teeth-gnashers at bay while nature takes care of the rest.

Pumpkin protected by pantyhose

Did you know that pumpkins turn orange for the same reason leaves do? As the days grow shorter, “the green pigment, necessary for photosynthesis, degrades and the carotenoids are revealed, causing the pumpkin to change color to shades of orange, red and yellow.”¹

Pretty cool, eh?

Pumpkin Shell Survives Composting

It’s true! A few small, late season pumpkins avoided last season’s squash bug onslaught. They were too hard to carve, so I lined them up on the paved wall instead. They remained a point of interest for many months, subject to occasional rearranging by the neighborhood day care kids. It was months before the snails showed up. Then one by one they started to rot. I tossed this one in the compost bin assuming it would also turn to mush.

Small pumpkin shell survives the compost pile

When I upended the compost for my sheet mulching project, out rolled the shell. I’ve dusted it off, checked for invading bugs, and brought it indoors. The decorating possibilities are endless and simply looking at it makes me smile.

A (Not so Itsy) Spider Weaves a Wondrous Web

Nothing says Halloween better than a scary-looking spider web.

I’m glad I found this web with my camera and not my face

Spider web in profile

Am I right?

You can buy fake ones at the local Halloween store, or you might get lucky and have one custom-built in the garden.

My hat is off to the photographers of the world that capture beautiful shots of spiders in webs. I could focus on the spider or the web but never both. There is a good chance I’ve offended her, since she took down her web by early afternoon when I wasn’t looking.

Beware.

Halloween is coming soon. I. Can’t. Wait!

¹Source: Children’s Museum Indianapolis

August 25, 2015 by Born To Organize

Quenching a Thirst

California’s drought is taking its toll on thirsty wildlife. Many sources of fresh water are depleted. Birds and mammals are struggling to quench their thirst.

So while I’m happy to let my lawn die while at the same time watering trees with my bath water, I’m choosing to share some of our fresh water with the critters that need it most.

Our small, re-circulating water fountain continues to flow.

This thing weighs a ton. It took all three men in the house to move it from the car to the back patio

New fountain closeup (the copper fairy is a gift from Boomdee)

We have a bird bath hanging from a branch of a maple tree

Bird bath and water wiggler. The wiggler keeps the water fresh and discourages mosquitoes

Water Wiggler closeup

and the newest addition: a pair of dog food bowls.

Quenching his thirst at the water bowl

Last week I spotted a squirrel on the patio umbrella, sipping from a rivulet of water formed by the morning dew. I filled a plastic bowl with water and wedged it into the rock wall. Within minutes the squirrel was having a drink.

Squirrel drinking from a small rivulet of water

A few days later, a mourning dove swooped in for a drink from our bird bath. They’re large birds, so she couldn’t land on the small bird bath and instead sent the bird bath swinging and sloshing water.

Over the weekend I bought two, heavy-duty dog watering bowls and placed them outdoors on the hutch. The bowls are sturdy enough that they can’t tip over, but accessible to larger birds, opossums and squirrels. As you can see, above, the squirrels found them immediately.

As we draw to the end of another long, hot summer, I’ve become acutely aware of the value of every last drop.

Nothing in all Nature is more certain than the fact that no single thing or event can stand alone. It is attached to all that has gone before it, and it will remain attached to all that will follow it. It was born of some cause, and so it must be followed by some effect in an endless chain. – Julian P. Johnson

If you live in California, I would like to issue a small challenge: The next time you stop to quench your own thirst, think about sharing a bowl of water with the creatures in our midst.

Resources:

Then and Now: California’s depleted reservoirs

Wildcare: Live well with wildlife

Water Wiggler: attracts birds while keeping mosquitoes at bay

August 24, 2015 by Born To Organize

We The Jury

Jury duty. Love it or hate it, it’s part of our civic responsibilities. Sometimes you’re summoned, but your group number is high and you don’t have to report.

This time, no such luck. I reported for potential jury duty this morning at 8:30.

7:33

I take this sort of thing seriously, and worry about messing up, so I left the house at 7:33 giving myself plenty of time. I drove ten minutes to the light rail station, boarded the train and arrived in front of the courthouse at 8:00. Not bad! I waited in line, cleared security, waited in another line, and learned I was at the wrong courthouse.

NO!

A snappish worker barked “there’s no one here today.” Now it was 8:10. I retraced my steps, got back on the train, and went two more stops. From there I hoofed it three long blocks, repeated the same security procedures, and after one elevator ride and a short line I was finally where I needed to be. It was eight-thirty-ish by then, but no one seemed to mind.

9:15

I’m waiting in a room with about 100 prospective jurors. We’ve each been assigned to a group. I figured out the wi-fi so I can wile away the wait time.

9:58

We’re called to a courtroom two floors up . Our group of sixty makes it to the 4th floor, and we’re seated in the courtroom. After we’re sworn in by the bailiff we meet both attorneys and the judge. The courtroom judge is welcoming but he also makes it clear that hardship excuses will only be honored in extreme cases. 15 people line up anyway. The rest of us return to the second floor

10:10 Waiting…

10: 28 Good Times at the Vending Machine.

Boredom and snacks frequently go hand in hand. I arrive to see a woman trying to feed the machine with a two dollar bill. I can tell she’s been at it for a while, as she turns and leaves in disgust. I feel for her. I buy a bottle of water with a five dollar bill, then wait for her to return. She graciously accepts my two dollars in quarters in exchange for the cranky two dollar bill and waits for her turn at the machine. The man in front of us isn’t having much lucky either. His coins drop, but the swirling arm in the machine refuses to deliver his snack. It’s partially extended but not dropping. The three of us stand there commiserating. We all give the machine a few thwacks but the fig bar refuses to budge. Then the woman offers him her remaining quarters, and at last he’s rewarded with his original snack and a spare. A wonderful bonding experience that we can all write home about.

11:00 ish

We’re all back in the courtroom again, two flights up. Roll call, stand up, sit down and further instructions. The law clerk calls the first 18 names at random, including mine. We all file into the jury box and one by one answer a series of questions from a piece of paper. More questions follow from the judge. Then the defense attorney approaches the group and the questions continue until noon.

12:00 – 1:30

Lunch…with a mom I used to volunteer with when our sons were in grade school. She’s in my group! What are the odds? We’re under strict instructions not to talk about any of the intense material covered the hour before. I find myself thinking of 100 things I want to say, but stopping myself every time. It’s such a strange day.

1:30

Second floor jury room

1:40

Fourth floor courtroom, back in our seats. More questioning from attorney number two. The attorney’s gather in whispers with the judge. Then they excuse six of the original 18 prospective jurors and six more join us in the box. The judge announces that we’ve all passed the prospective juror “test”. The judge announces the next phase: peremptory challenges. Then in rapid fire order, the attorneys took turns making peremptory challenges, and on the second or third round my name came up.

2:30

In my relief and exhaustion, I board the wrong train. I correct my mistake, eventually make it home, and by 4:30 I’m snoozing on the couch.

Epilogue: Reflecting back on the day’s intensity, I think the biggest challenge is the amount of new information coming at you, interspersed with the mundane. Sitting on a jury is serious business and you want to get it right. I mostly feel intense relief that the day is done with complete empathy for the final twelve jurors of the day.

Have you served on a jury before? What was it like? Would you want to do it again?

August 19, 2015 by Born To Organize

Slinky Malinki: Life in the Blue Zone

Slinky looking a bit world-weary

Our little Slinky has a sordid past. We don’t know the details, but she arrived on our front steps a few years ago with fear in her eyes, looking for a meal. I reached down to pet her and she lashed out, biting and clawing my hand. Boy did that hurt.

My family quickly learned to keep our hands to ourselves. Slinky visited our deck every few days and we offered her food and water on her visits. She started rubbing up against our legs with a nervous purr, but any attempt to pet her sent her scrambling, biting or both. This went on for months. Then one day, my son simply bent down and picked her up and carried her into the house. She froze in his hands, clearly terrified, but I rejoiced knowing we could get our hands on her. In November of 2010 I lifted her into a cat carrier and took her to our vet.

Contemplation

I warned our vet about Slinky’s propensity to bite and claw, but they countered that she was a sweetie. Clearly they’ve seen it all. Her health checked out, I paid for boosters and an exam and came home.

We kept Slinky indoors that first night, but with a small house, two boys and at the time, four other cats, she was under great duress. The eventual compromise was to create an outdoor enclosure in our back, side yard. This kept her safe from the dangers of the street, including cars and cat fights, but we still dreamed of having her inside.

Slinky Today

We’ve come a long way since those early years. About two and a half years ago, and on her own terms, Slinky moved indoors. She sleeps on the back of my desk and keeps the other cats in line. She’s the smallest and the oldest and hearing-impaired, but Lindy and Mouse know to give her a wide berth. Slinky likes to dart outside for ‘fresh’ water, then quickly returns to her chosen spot on my desk.

Until this summer.

When we cleaned out the side yard earlier this year, we tossed the decaying bench. I bought small blue cushions for the bench, and used to sit there to keep her company and to give her treats. The blue bench cushions were still in good shape, so I planned to use them on the back steps. As I tossed the cushions on the patio Slinky seemed to recognize them. She headed straight for them with purpose and intent. I wonder if she has fond memories of sitting on those cushions in her side-yard domain? Whatever it is, she’s spent most of her summer in this area of the patio known as the blue zone.

Life in the Blue Zone

Slinky wants to go out on the porch around 6 am.

A long, cool drink at the bowl

She has a long drink of water from her blue bowl, which is really a ceramic tray used to catch water under a plant. She spends the rest of the day on her blue cushions.

8:42 Grooming

9:04 Planning her day

9:12 The first of several naps

On really hot days, she slips off the sides on to the cool stones, but by day’s end she’s back up on her cushions.

Another nap, resting her head on the cool stone

Another nap

At dusk she comes inside and sits on the arm of the couch for a bit of TLC. She purrs and head butts and looks for affection, but we’re still a bit leery. One false move and the claws come out. A quick hiss follows, from a place of fear. Slinky recovers and things return to normal. Eventually we’re all off to bed until Slinky sounds the alarm the following day. She can’t hear so she dials up the volume to an impossible-to-ignore cry: GET UP! IT’S TIME TO RETURN TO THE BLUE ZONE!

Slinky patrols the Blue Zone

Slinky is loud-mouthed, quick to temper and at times a bit of a bully.

Sometimes you just can’t explain love.

A bit more about Slinky and the origins of her name

2012: Slinky in the Garden

2013: All’s Well with Slinky

Penguin Books: Slinky Malinki by Dame Lynley Dodd

My old, graying Slinky. On a recent visit, my vet described her as “an old woman with really good teeth.”

August 17, 2015 by Born To Organize

Strange Little Weekend

Smoky gray skies at dusk

Local temperatures soared again this weekend, breaking into the triple digits. What made it surreal was the oppressive air. Though wildfires still burn up and down the west coast, the Bay Area has been relatively untouched, other than a few small and quickly contained grass fires. This weekend the skies were a murky grey with the smell of burning wood. We kept going outside hoping to locate the source. The acrid smell got worse at dusk, probably due to the heavier evening air.

According to KTVU, one of our local TV stations:

Fire departments across the Bay Area received numerous calls Saturday, from concerned residents about seeing and smelling heavy smoke in the area, officials said.
KTVU meteorologist Rosemary Orozco says it has to do with a shift in the weather pattern. She says the onshore breeze normally would blow the smoke towards the Oregon and Nevada borders.
But a change in the weekend weather pattern is blowing the smoke from the Gold Country down towards the Bay Area.

Leading up to the weekend, I couldn’t wait to get started on another sheet-mulching project. After nearly four months, we finally have our lawn replacement plans in hand. Yes!!!

To qualify for the lawn replacement rebate, I have to wait for San Jose Water Company’s final plant approval. They have strict instructions NOT to start planting without prior go-ahead and that could take up to six weeks. The rebate pays $2 a square foot so it pays to play by the rules. That said, I am so over our brown, crispy “lawn.”

Forms and more forms. Santa Clara County likes to keep it old school

I drove the list of plants, the application and other requisite forms to the water department. Knowing how slow government agencies are, I didn’t want to waste another day mailing the packet. I left with an official looking date-stamped slip of blue paper. Now we wait.

The better news is that they we’re allowed to remove the lawn while we wait. The preferred method is sheet mulching. Since I already sheet mulched half the lawn last fall with great success, I was ready to get started.

I sheet mulched this area starting last October. It used to be lawn.

On Saturday morning, my back garden looked like this:

Did a wild raccoon go crazy with an overturned garbage can?

Did the rats throw a party in the compost bin?

Nope. I made that mess. On purpose. But only because my Friday night self didn’t know about our Strange Little Weekend ahead. Excited to get started, I tossed cardboard, compost and compostable material on to the pile just before dark. By the time I was home from Pilates and haircuts the following day, temps were searing hot.

This week I’m practicing patience while I hide from the heat. I’m thanking the universe for the extra time indoors to catch up on (yawn) my boring (yawn) paperwork. This heat won’t last forever.

How was your weekend? Is your week off to a good start?

I have no right to snicker since I make mistakes all the time, but according to the paper, we can expect low “clodus” at the beach.

August 14, 2015 by Born To Organize

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Friday Finisher

Are you thinking at this very moment of a favorite quote to share?

Go for it!

Sometime in the next three weeks, share three quotes spread out over three days. Or do what Joanna did and share three wonderful quotes in one rich vibrant and moving post.

That’s it. I’ve been tagging different blogging friends all week, hoping everyone will join the fun.

That said, NO pressure. In fact, you can forget I even mentioned it. Think about this though before you go: you never know who you’ll inspire with a quote that is near and dear to your heart.

Pauline of the Contented Crafter got the ball rolling with her quotes here, here and here.

There is actually a fourth and funny quote on her blog but I need to maintain my Rated-G WordPress rating. You can go take a look, but you didn’t hear it from me.

Tag, you’re it (but only if you want to):

Benjamin at Nest Of Squirrels
Joe at The Visual Chronicle
Robin at The Forsyth Sagas

August 13, 2015 by Born To Organize

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Day One is Done, Day Two Begins Anew

Hello there! Won’t you come join the quote train? It’s day two. Choo Choo!!!

You can read yesterday’s quote here. It’s a good one, quoting the brilliant Dr. Seuss.

If you would like to join us, here’s what you do. Over the next three weeks, add three quotes spread out over three days and be sure to have fun doing it. That’s what we’re all about here. If I call out your name below, it’s because I think you’ll enjoy sharing your own favorite quotes. NO pressure. In fact, you can forget I even mentioned it. It’s fun though and you never know who you’ll inspire with a clever, witty, creative, or mind-bending quote.

I’m jumping on the coattails of Pauline of the Contented Crafter. You can read Pauline’s clever quotes here, here and here.