Mira, 2 months old:

Mira, 3 years old:

Good to know I still get a "thumbs up" from her.

Over the weekend Mira was invited to a birthday party for a little girl in her preschool class. As any 3 year old would be, she was proud she had an event to go to, something that was just for her as well as her parent escort.

I decided to make the most of it and have a one-on-one morning with Cordy. Thanks to a little sister who insists on always being on my lap or hanging off of me whenever we're at home, I feel like Cordy and I often don't get much time to chat and bond. This would be our chance to hang out with no interference from Mira, where she could have my undivided attention and I might get the chance to see what's going on in that pretty little head of hers.

I left the plans open to her, and she decided we were going to the zoo, followed by lunch at Bob Evans. Thankfully, the forecast was for a warm, sunny day - rare in November - so I happily agreed.

Once at the zoo, Cordy was intent on riding all of the rides. The Columbus Zoo has an area called Jungle Jack's Landing that features carnival-type rides for kids, but this area was blocked off with a sign announcing it was closed for the season. Cordy was disappointed, but I suggested we try to look at some of the animals while we were there, since, you know, it IS a zoo.

With no little sister to object, Cordy demanded we go to her favorite places: the fish and the snakes. For some reason, those two exhibits are her favorites. She loves watching the fish swim around, "driving" the boat in the manatee area. We talked about all of the different fish, and she oohed and aahed over the pretty colors of the coral in the tank.

In the reptile house, she pushed all of the buttons in the information area before moving on to the display animals. She chattered about each one, pointing out one was really long, another was hiding in a tree, and yet another had a funny shaped head. We had nowhere to be, so I let her go at her own pace as she went through her normal routine of pushing buttons, asking me to point out where we live on the map, and then talking about each snake as we walked past them.

Outside of the manatee exhibit, I also let her climb on the manatee sculpture - something I'm usually unwilling to wait around for. But it wasn't crowded, so there was no wait.

(Cordy, the manatee rider!)

After that, Cordy wanted to ride the carousel - the only ride open in the zoo that day. I purchased a ticket for her and we waited in line. When did she get so big that she now wants to go on the carousel? I remember her crying at the thought of riding it years ago. I remember sitting with her on the bench seats of the carousel because the up and down motion of the horses scared her too much. Now here she was picking the horse she wanted, holding on tight and waving to everyone instead of keeping a death-grip on me.

Having seen her favorite animals and taken her ride on the carousel, Cordy announced it was time to go to lunch. But not before asking to pose (yet again) with her favorite penguin statue.

(This well-loved statue could use a little paint.)

We then went to Bob Evans, where Cordy got to sit on her side of the little booth with no one next to her. "Mom, I'm all alone over here," she announced, "Can't you sit with me?" I explained that there was no room for me over there, and that she was big enough to sit by herself now. Stretching out her arms, she decided she liked all of the space to color and work on her activity sheet.

After the meal, Cordy begged for dessert. I normally say no, but since this was her special day, I gave in and agreed. She loved every bite of her sundae, even as I cringed and realized the coloring in the hot fudge and cherry might provoke a behavioral reaction later.

(Side note: it did. She didn't act the same the remainder of the day and had a fierce meltdown that night over spelling a word wrong. My lesson from this? Even if it's her special day, we still have to hold firm to rules about "bad" foods.)

(And notice that big gap in her smile - she lost both front teeth in the last 2 weeks!)

On the way home, she fell asleep in the car, but not before telling me that this was "the best mommy-Cordy day ever."

And it was.

I don't know how many more years she'll want to spend time with me in public, but I'll selfishly hang onto these moments for as long as I can.

So I've noticed several bloggers are taking part in a 30 Days of Truth blog meme. It's a nice way to give yourself 30 days of blogging prompts, and while I'm all about jumping on board that bandwagon, there's no way I'm doing 30 in a row. That would be too much commitment and way too much emotional sludge for me to slog through at once. I'll just do them here and there and hopefully get through all 30 before I forget what the remaining ones are.

Day 1: Something you hate about yourself

They decided to start easy, didn't they? I could write a book about all of the things I don't like about myself. From my dull, flat hair, past my big nose and all the way down to my monster feet, I'm good at finding fault with myself.

But what I really dislike is my lack of social understanding. The more I look inward, the more I can begin to understand and accept that I have a daughter with autism. My daughter's pediatrician even admitted she thought I had Asperger's. And as Cordy gets older, I'm starting to see the awkward moments I suffered through as a child relived by her.

I've never been popular. I was always the kid on the outside, wishing I could understand how to do the "right" things to be liked by others. My interests were never popular interests. I had trouble being witty on the spot, and often missed the social cues that I wasn't wanted in a group.

I was told I was a freak and a weirdo, and I was bullied and shunned all through school for being different. I tried so very, very hard to fit in, mimicking others yet never quite getting it right. I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong to never earn acceptance. I remember feeling suicidal more than once as a child and a teen, always confused about how I could be so amazingly smart in school but couldn't figure out how to get people to like me.

As an adult, I've learned to blend in a little more, but I'll admit I still don't understand people. I've never figured out the secret to being popular, and sometimes it hurts that I know I'm rarely at the top of anyone's list of people they like to hang out with. In public I make an effort to conceal some of my quirks.

When I'm funny, it's generally on accident. (Ask our friend Baca about the scissors sometime. I made everyone in the room nearly suffocate from laughing so hard that day.) I suck at predicting how people will react to something.

I try to accept my geekdom, though. (The Big Bang Theory is one of my favorite TV shows and I understand nearly all of the humor on that show - Sheldon fans unite!) I'll freely admit to strangers that I'm socially awkward at times, or that I need to drop out of a conversation quickly because I'm feeling overwhelmed. I know my brain doesn't work the same as others and I'm not ashamed to admit it anymore. After all, I have a daughter with autism, and I want to make sure she doesn't grow up thinking she's a worthless freak like I did. Thankfully, being different is more accepted today than it used to be, but we still have a long way to go.

I'm sure it sounds like I'm being hard on myself, and I might be. There were kids who were just as unpopular as me in school. (A few possibly more unpopular.) But if I could change one aspect of myself, I'd love to be that person who can expertly navigate the world of popularity, winning friends and influencing people with ease, instead of the person on the edge of the social circle, wishing I knew how to be a little less awkward.

My personal anthem at the moment:

Last week I had a very pleasant surprise when I received an e-mail informing me that I was selected as a winner of an iPad from a drawing held at BlogWorld in Las Vegas. There was much celebrating in my house that night, for I'm never that lucky and especially not with a prize as big as an iPad.

A few days later, it arrived in the mail. I had already been reading up on features and apps I wanted to download, but I was waiting to see which model it was. I received the 16GB wifi model, which is a very nice product, but Aaron and I talked it over and decided that the 3G version of the device would be even more useful.

So yesterday I made the trip out to the Apple Store to upgrade my new precious to an even shinier model. I carried it into the store - still in the box it was mailed in - and took it up to the counter. I quickly met the eyes of an employee and put on my best smile to attract his attention. "Hi, I received this iPad as a prize when I went to a blog conference recently, and while I love it a lot, I'd really like to trade up to the 3G model."

The man looked the box over carefully, reading the label, peeking inside to verify I did have an iPad in there and checking to see which model it was. "Oh, OK. Well, do you have the receipt for it?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, no. I received it as a prize. What you see here is all that came with it. But I can show you the e-mail they sent me." I took out my iPhone and quickly pulled up the e-mail.

He looked closely at the screen. "Hmm...but it doesn't have any receipt for purchase on it. Let me go find someone to help you with this."

While he was away looking for a manager another store employee, who was standing there listening the entire time, took the iPad out of the shipping box and said he'd throw away the box for me.

The other employee came back with a manager, who told me without a receipt they couldn't do an exchange. "We just don't know where this iPad came from," he explained, "It could have been purchased in a number of places, and we're rather you return it to that place of purchase. A lot of our products are popular, and there's a lot of theft, you know."

I again explained that I received it as a prize and showed him the e-mail from the PR company who sent it to me, along with the shipping slip. I was confused at this point, and starting to feel like they thought I had stolen this iPad. "Your company makes the product. Why should it matter where it was bought? It's still the same product. I don't want any cash for it - I'm only asking to pay the extra money and upgrade to the 3G model."

"Well, without the receipt, we can't do anything for you here," the manager responded. He then smiled and added, "But it's a popular product, so you shouldn't have any trouble unloading it some other way."

Unloading it. Seriously? I hoped for a moment that maybe "unloading" was new hipster-speak for "finding a legitimate way to trade it in somewhere else" but quickly realized that they totally suspected me of stealing this iPad.

"I don't want to sell it," I insisted, "I want to USE it. But the 3G version would be more useful for me, so that's why I'm trying to exchange it."

"Well, we have to have some proof that the serial number on this model matches what was purchased. If you can produce a receipt with the serial number on it, then we can help you. Like I said, iPads are hot. I'm sure you won't have any trouble unloading it."

I was furious. I wasn't angry about the exchange policy - if that's their policy, fine. What I'm still angry about is the way I was treated. I don't care how popular their products are - when I walk into their store, I expect to be treated with respect, not as an enemy.

From the moment I said I didn't have a receipt, nothing else I said mattered to them. I was no longer a customer - I was a scammer. Forget the fact that I was planning to spend $130 to upgrade. Forget that I was likely to buy a case and other accessories to go with it. Even with an e-mail, a valid explanation and a shipping box showing where it came from, they couldn't help me and could only suggest I turn to a reseller market to make a little cash off of it.

Oh, and about that shipping box: as soon as they made it clear they wouldn't help me, I asked for the box back. The employee who originally helped me looked surprised as to why I wanted it back. "I'm not walking out of here holding an iPad box for all to see. It screams: 'Mug me' don't you think?" They grudgingly found my box and gave it back to me. I packed everything back up and left.

When I got home, I took a closer look at the box. On the original label was the original sender's address, which just happened to be Apple HQ. And there was an order number, which was a valid order number when I entered it on Apple's website. Not to mention the iPad's serial number was also on a sticker on the outside of the box. Yet the store employees refused to look for any evidence to back up my claim, and nearly threw out my proof.

I've experienced my share of bad customer service, but this trip to the Apple Store was one of the worst yet. I was made to feel ashamed, as if I was doing something illegal, just for wanting to exchange an unopened product for a more expensive one. It completely stripped away all of the excitement I had for the iPad.

I'm still unabashedly appreciative and grateful to the company who hosted the giveaway and randomly selected me as their winner. And I still hope to get the iPad upgraded to the 3G version somehow. With 3G, we can take it with us in the car or in other places that don't have wifi, and I plan to load it up with apps for Cordy. There have been several apps designed for children with autism, and I'm hoping the iPad can be a tool for Cordy as well as a useful tool for me, too.

But I have absolutely no respect for Apple and their poor customer service at this point, and will tell my experience to anyone I meet.

I didn't deserve to be treated like a thief.

Edited to add: After all that drama, it was suggested in the comments that I try Walmart. I took it to my local Walmart, and they let me exchange it with little hassle. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Apple could stand to learn a few lessons in customer service from Walmart.

They came to protect the Earth, and collected buckets full of candy along the way.