I messed it up....so I moved.

Yeah, I messed up the blog up over the weekend.  I managed to muck things up so bad I couldn't fix them and the only logical thing to do, well it seemed logical at the time, was to move.

So I did it.  I moved.

I'm now here over here:  Four Sea Stars.

Please come over so I don't feel like a loser.


Note: I've retrospectively changed the wording in this post.  In light of what happened in Boston, I felt it was necessary to remove certain words to respect those involved.  

Nothing to see here, please keep moving...

Did you have a good Easter?  I bet yours was better than ours.  Matter of fact, I would place a sizable amount of money you had a better Easter than we did.

It all started after the kids went to bed and I had to grab the Easter baskets and candy.  The baskets were no problem.  I had them up in my closet so I didn't have to have what happened last year---which was not find a basket, throw a fit and run to Target at frigging midnight, only to find the offending basket full of Barbies in Lizzy's room the very next morning while we were looking for the new Easter basket.  Ironic, no???

This year I thought I had everything where it was supposed to be and it was going to be easy.  Throw the candy in the baskets, hide the baskets and chuck a few plastic eggs around the house and I'd be in bed by 11:00, tops.

Yeah, no.

I couldn't find the candy.  I hid the candy too well and I couldn't find it.  I hid the candy from myself.

You should have heard the language.  I vowed I wasn't going to run up to Target again this year.  I VOWED.  I searched from one end of the house to the other.  Cussing the whole time, "Where in the fuck did I put that candy?  God damn it, how can I be so fucking stupid to hide the candy from myself?  I am a full- fledged, card carrying member of the Idiot Society.  I hid the candy from myself.  HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?!?"

I was not going to Target.  I was not.  I looked in cabinets, the pantry, the car, my closet, the bathroom, the laundry room and even in the laundry bins.  Nothing, no candy.

I gave up, I used Valentine's Day candy instead.

By the time I had stopped sobbing, cursing and the getting baskets together, I threw plastic eggs out around the house and I went to bed.  Not before I called my husband and told him, "FIX THIS."

It was 1:45 AM.  

The kids were up at 5:45 AM.

They hunted for their baskets, found eggs and life was good.  And then I heard Lizzy scream, "Mom!!!!  The Easter Bunny gave me Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, I hate Reese's Peanut Butter Cups!!!"  Then the crying started and didn't stop.

And from another corner of the house I heard Alex wail, "Mom, the Easter Bunny gave me chocolate lambs!!!  I hate chocolate lambs!!!"  The basket got chucked in a corner and he went running and sobbing in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile, Gracie was sitting at the kitchen table eating everything in her basket, happy as a clam.  The other two were freaking out.

The Easter Bunny, in her sleep deprived state, mixed up the baskets so my husband, after he went to Target, put the wrong candy in the wrong basket.

I screamed at them, "You guys, just switch baskets.  You can do that, right?"  Neither one of them heard me over their own wails.  All I kept thinking was, "Sue me, I got your baskets wrong.  There are starving kids in China who would LOVE to have your chocolate!"  Deep down, I felt horrible.

I gave up, went to the kitchen and thought I'd get an early start on the dinner.

And I promptly dropped the ham on my foot.  The brown sugar glaze packet broke the impact and in the process exploded all over the refrigerator, floor and my foot.  I cursed the ham to hell and decided to work on the deviled eggs.  And I couldn't get that thin layer, you know that membrane thing?  I couldn't get it off the egg.  I broke two eggs right off the bat and on the third one, I melted down, smashed them all in the sink, turned the disposer on and sent them on their merry way.

(And, yes, I soaked those damn eggs in cold water.  I even did a trial run so this wouldn't happen and it still happened so don't tell me to soak them in cold water, I got that memo.  God, that still pisses me off.)

At that point I gave up.

I took the kids to Wendy's and we had chicken nuggets and french fries for Easter.  I put all the candy into one big basket and let them play Minecraft till their hearts content.  I collapsed on the sofa and flipped back and forth between HGTV and DIY and after that we decapitated the lamb and ate it.

And that was our Easter.  I was sad, angry and upset that I couldn't pull it off.

I was getting ready to call the kids up for bed and I heard Alex say, "This was the best Easter ever!"

And just like that, all was right with my world....but I'm still pissed at those damn eggs.

February you need to go away, like, right now.

February and I have a love/hate relationship going on.  For me, it's mostly an all hate kind of thing.  It's cold, dreary and even with the hint of spring right around the corner it's hard road to get to the end of those twenty eight days.

In my head, I've been telling February to go fuck itself over twenty times a day.  It's like it's on repeat in my brain.

First we got sick.  Then we got better.  Then we had Valentine's Day and I made the off hand comment at my daughters party, "Holy Cow!  It looks like half the class is missing."  Turns out, half the class was missing and I know exactly what they gave me.  A horrible cold.

And the kids have been home for almost the whole month.  They had parent teacher conferences for two days followed up by Presidents' Day.  Not to be outdone, we had Winter Storm Q pound us and the kids were off another two days.  A State of Emergency was declared and it snowed.  And snowed and snowed and snowed.

Fuck you for that, February.

I thought it would be fun to go out and play in the, you know, snow.  Not so much.  It took over forty minutes to get into snow pants, socks, boots, coats, hats and gloves and even then Alex took a single step out the back door and retreated inside exclaiming he was done.  The girls went out for ten minutes only to retreat inside when they got snow in their mittens.  Ten minutes.

And to think we lived in North Dakota for ten years.

Because the kids have been off school so much, either because of planned events, sickness or snow days, they've been dysregulated.  They don't know what day it is, if they should be getting ready for school or what they should be doing.  It's been awesome.

I took a huge leap, put us on a schedule and did some homeschooling.

They hated it.  They hated me and they hated everything about being home and having to learn something.  I was cutting into their Minecraft time and by God they let me know about it.

I turned off the computers and they suddenly realized that, by God, I was being serious.

We studied, we learned and I think they had fun.

And when I asked, "Who wants to go outside and play?"  The forty minute bitch session was pared down to ten minutes and begging to be let out.  I guess they didn't have as much fun with me teaching as I thought...

They were out the door and in the snow in record time.

We made forts, threw snowballs and laughed.

You know where this would be pretty?
Some place other than my back yard, that's where.  

We dug out from our winter storm and things were getting back to normal.  Taking the kids to Tae Kwon Do, I fell in the parking lot.  I cursed February with my middle finger and a slew of beautifully strung together obscenities.

I'm sorry if you were in the minivan next to me when I went down but really?  That hurt like a mother.

We only had a few more days.

And then they said we were going to have another storm.  Bigger and badder than the last one.  Up to twenty inches of new snow on our already foot and a half.

Again, even prettier if this was your back yard.
Someone want to help me pick up branches?

That's exactly what we got.  Additional snow, snow days and more homeschooling.

I think my kids hate me.  I think I hate February more....but now I have one day left.

Just one day left in February and I can flip the calendar.  There's something about the promise of March.  Sure we live in Kansas and the threat of tornados looms large but we'd be out of February, into the promise of Spring.

I can do this.

I'll take my chances and risk tornados any day of the week just to get past the cold, snowy days of winter.

And then I thought I died.

I got all excited and happy that I was back and then, like all things, fate slapped me around a bit and showed me who's boss.  I'll give you a clue, it's not me.  Gracie came down with the stomach bug.  Now for those of you who have stuck with me for a while, you know how much I absolutely detest puke.  How much it makes me nervous, spin out of control and generally go insane.  And you also know how that is inversely proportional to how much my kids do, in fact, puke.

They puke all the fucking time.

Gracie was so sick, I had to have my neighbor pick up some meds for her to stop hurling, I couldn't get her to the corner Walgreen's without hurling.

It was either that or we were trudging down to the Emergency Department to get an IV.  For seven hours, we'd been sitting next to each other with a bucket so she could spew.  Seven long, horrible, frigging hours.  In that time frame she nailed me in the face and at that point I knew it was over.  My only thought was, "Innoculation complete."

I Cloroxed my face, mouth, neck and even my tongue for good measure.

And she got better.  A day went by and no one got sick.  I didn't get sick.

I was happy, I thought I had beaten it.  And I got cocky.  I was all, "Suck on that norovirus!  You were on my face and I beat you.  I win!  I'm a God."

Only I wasn't.  

I got sick.

One minute I was fine and the next, well, I wasn't.

And for the love of all things good and holy, I wished I was dead.  I have no earthly clue what that child brought into this house but I was sick.  Like, I was sicker than sick.  I threw out my back puking.  I stopped counting the number of times I barfed at sixty one.  My jaw popped out of socket and at no point did I think, "You know what, one day this will be funny and we are going to sit back and laugh and laugh and laugh."

Bait and switch.  Look at the pretty ocean while I talk about puke. 

And I'll just fast forward through all the gruesome details because they were flat out disgusting.  Now I'm up and amongst the living wondering where in the hell two good days went and what in the hell happened to my house.  It was like our toy closet blew up and all the kids were sitting in the middle of it having the times of their lives.  My husband and I clearly have two different views on how to keep the house.

And then I after another day I though I was in the clear.  No one was sick.  I got all cocky.  I thought, "I'm bad ass, I cleaned that norovirus out of this house.  I'm a cleaning God."

But I was wrong, I was so very wrong.

My husband got sick.

Then Alex got sick.

And now I must go and admit my defeat.


As an update, we now have the flu, or a cold that is suspiciously like the flu, in our house.  Alex is home from school telling me all about Minecraft.  Awesome.  

I'm trying to get back to everyone's blog but I'm having a really hard time.  Some of the word verification combinations are killing me!  I know spam is an issue but I can't seem to get past some of them and for that I'm sorry.   

What's missing...

So I'm back.  I took some time away and before I knew it we had holidays, birthdays, construction, IEP's and all kinds of fun with the flu and other assorted illnesses.  Awesome.

But I miss writing.  I miss my blog and I miss all of you.  

And what I'm going to start off with is no fun and part of the delay in coming back.  I was hoping it would go away, the dust would settle and we could all go about our business.  It hasn't, it won't and I'm over hearing about the horse that's been beaten to death.    

In the Autism community, there has been a long held belief that you are either a parent of a child with Autism or you are an adult self advocate.  Well, truth be told, I am both.  When pushed into a corner I will admit that I am on the Spectrum.  I don't feel I need to wear a badge or proclaim it on the highest mountain, that's just me.  I feel it's pretty obvious when you meet or get to know me.  It's mine, I own it and I don't feel it's anyone's business but my own.

I wrote this a while back.  Still holds true. 

You see, it's taken a long time for me to get comfortable with, me.  I want people to get to know me and not to draw conclusions based on a label.  I want the same for my son, for him to be accepted based on his own merits, achievements and successes.  You see, the world does not make excuses or gives free passes for those that are different.

Which brings me back to what I've seen recently in this community.  I've seen a complete and utter lack of respect.  A lack of respect for the person behind the screen name, the individual.  A lack of respect for what another person has said and a complete disregard for everything except their own agenda.  I have witnessed name calling, calling people assholes, baiting people to attack and agenda pushing at its finest.  I've seen both sides pile-on and add their two cents and the sad part is?  No one is listening.  No one.  How can they, when attack mode has been relegated as the new norm?

And that makes me want to walk away, not to come back.  But, but...I don't walk away from things that are important to me.  Things that I hold dear.  Things that I find unsettling for me and my child's future.   

Without respect, we will continue to beat our head against a wall, beat that dead horse to a pulp.

And here's my take, and granted, you may not like it.

When you are an adult, act like an adult.  It's just that simple.  Quit blaming someone else.  Is not up to me, or anyone for that matter, to tell you how to behave.  And if you don't know?  Then simply ask.

If you're angry, then step away.  Coming into a discussion angry and baiting will only foster those feelings.  And if  you're angry and itching for a fight, please go some place else.  You're simply not going to get a fight from me.  That's not who I am and not who I want to be.

The thing with the Internet is, other people can't read your mind, they don't know the day you've had or what life's thrown at you, and really?  Everyone has their own struggles and issues they're dealing with.  Believe it or not, they may be in a worse place than you.

While the fight goes on, this is as far as I will go into it.  I will not engage.  I won't converse with those unwilling to listen and I certainly won't be baited by those looking for a fight.  And the thing is?  There are plenty of other people like me.  Parents and self advocates who want to get along and understand each other without out a divide.  Those people do exist and when  you find them, you will know.

So I will continue to teach my child how to be respectful and kind.  I will work where I know I'm effective, here, my home, with my children and in my community.  And hopefully what I'm doing will be good enough.  Hopefully my son and others will learn a thing or two.

That is my hope.

I talk about my silence

I've been quiet for a reason.  We went on a little break for a reason.  I've thought long and hard about what I'm going to say.

Alex has turned nine.  He's getting older.  He's more aware of the situation around him and becoming aware of all things around him.  He knows I write about Autism and I write about him.

He has asked me to stop.

As his mom I have taken what he's said to heart.

When Alex was younger it was easier.  The lines were not as vague as they are now.  I was able to write about our lives and what happened.  He didn't express any issue with what I was doing and for the most part things were fine.  But as he's gotten older the lines have become blurred.  They're not as clear.  Time sneaks up on you and before you know it, you're looking at a child who is no longer a child.

Alex is very much like me--very private and happy with a few key people in his life.  I am afraid to say more about him, about how Autism impacts him, as he's very clearly expressed his reservations.

To continue in the fashion I have been would be wrong.  I don't want him thinking there is something wrong with him or that I need to talk on the Internet because of him.  I can see he is starting to think that, and as his mom, I have to change what I am doing.  I have to take care of him first.

I'd love to tell you how we were playing Four Square and I drilled him in the face with the ball because I got so fed up with being hit because he wasn't using all of his social skills.  I'd love to tell you more about that but I simply can't.

So I have to tell you in all honesty I'm not sure what I'm doing, what direction this will be going or even if this will continue.  I thought an explanation was due.

Thank you all for all of your kindness and support.  You have truly meant the world to me and there are simply no words to reflect my gratitude.

Hugs and love,
Lizbeth


I will remain on Facebook and I will still have my email account, Lizbethcole29@yahoo.com. 

Once I figure things out, you'll be the first to know.  

I talked to a bunch of third graders...and I liked it.

I went into school the other day to talk to Alex's class about Autism.  Nothing instills fear in me as much as talking to a small hoard of third graders.  Kids---they are unpredictable, they are young and for the most part, they say what's on their mind.

They scare me.

Earlier in the year we had an incident where Alex was bullied and that spurred the question of, "What do the kids know about Autism?  Do they know anything?  Do they even know he has it?"  The answers came back as no, no and no.  The kids knew nothing.

I though that maybe if they knew something, heck anything, there may be some compassion.  They may have some understanding of why he does what he does and maybe with understanding would come some form of acceptance.    

I'll be the first to tell you, I worked with our school to do this.  Our teachers are great and in some ways I am really blessed.  They get it.  They get Alex.  They get me and they are willing to work with the things I suggest.

I had a PowerPoint presentation and from that presentation, I made a book for each child in Alex's class.  I wanted each one of them to have something to bring home so their parents could see what we went over in class.  Truth be told, I did it in the hopes that the parents would know what I talked about, and maybe just maybe, there would be further discussion at home.

A thing of beauty.  

Anyway, it turned out to be really interesting.  And enlightening.  For all of us.  The kids were really interested.  The teacher had told the students on Monday I would be coming in, later in the week, and asked if they had any questions about Autism.  None of the kids new a stitch.  They wanted to know things like:

• Can I catch it?
• How do you get it?
• What is it and where does it come from?

So when I went in last week, we had the presentation on the White Board.  They use this all the time in class and its basically a computer screen on a white board (imagine that) on the wall.  The kids all sat around in a circle eating their snacks and before I could even start a boy asked, "What is it?"

I was nervous, scared and worried.  Alex had elected to stay and listen and I was scared to death he would be upset or have a meltdown.  

"Well, my name is Mrs. Cole and I'm Alex's mom.  I'm here to talk a little bit about Autism.  You all had some really good questions for your teacher earlier in the week.  I guess you should know that the reason why I'm here talking to you about Autism is because Alex has Autism.  Did you guys know that?"

I was met with wide eyes and blank stares and a few kids chomping their Doritos's.  Alex was quiet.  He was in the back of the class and his para was next to him, keeping a close eye on him.    

"So you had questions about how do you get Autism and if you can catch it.  Those are really good questions..."

Still, twenty-three sets of eyes, all wide open, all with blank stares, looking right at me.  It was like looking down the barrel of a gun.

"A person is born with Autism.  You can't catch it.  You just have it.  It's like you have brown eyes or blond hair.  You have what you were born with.  When a person is born with Autism, it means their brain is a little different.  Its just the way a person is born.  So just like your hair or eye color, you're born with it.  It's not good or bad, its just different."

"Let me ask you guys a question, do you guys know the gaming devices, what are they Nintendo and PlayStation??"

They all started talking at once.  I think at first they wondered how an old person like me would even know about Nintendo or PlayStation.  Either way, you would have thought I told them Halloween was in twenty minutes.

They all started talking, "Oh My God, yeah!  We have those at home!  Do you know we have both?!?  You can't play them with each other....my dad says its a conspiracy."  No lie, that's what one kid said.  It was perfect.

All the kids were talking about which games they liked to play and which ones were better....

"Well yeah, OK, lets go back to those two kinds of games.  They both have different operating systems.  They are the same but different, right?  And like the brain, you can't see those differences, they are on the inside, right?  Just like the operating systems of the games---the differences are on the inside."

I had them thinking.  They were really quite and pondering.  The Doritos's were left off to the side of a criss-crossed applesauce set of legs.

"Well, lets say our brains are like those operating systems.  Lets say for this class you all have brains with a Nintendo Operating System, OK?  And let's say that Alex's brain, his brain, he has a PlayStation Operating System.  You guys following?"

Now a lot of heads were nodding up and down and there were a few hushed, "Ohhh's."

"So what that means is this, when your brain receives information from the world, lets say right now--me talking, the lawnmower outside, the hum of the computer, the rattling of your snack bags, all of it---your brain processes it with a Nintendo operating system.  Well, Alex's brain takes all that same information---me talking, the lawnmower outside, the hum of the computer, the rattling of your snack bags, all of it---he processes all that same information....but with a PlayStation operating system.  Ya still with me?"

I had twenty-three nodding heads and dead silence.  I could tell they were getting it, they were totally getting it.

"So what that means is....you all process information one way, and he processes that same information a different way.  It's not wrong, its not bad, its just different."

A hand went up.  "Is that why Alex uses headsets?"

It was like the floodgates had opened.  "Yeah, is that why he wears those things???  Can we see them?  Is that why he wiggles?  And shakes?  And leaves the class sometimes?  Hey, can we try the headsets?"

The kids knew.  They knew he was different, they always have.  They just didn't know why.  And they were afraid to ask, you could see it on their faces as plain as day.  All this time---they knew.

"Yeah, that's it.  His brain processes things differently from you so he responds differently.  So when you see him wiggle or.....you know how he pulls his shirt up over his mouth sometimes?"  And I had the kids.  They all looked around and were a bit uncomfortable here---Alex pulls his shirt up over his face as a stim.  The kids got it, they understood it.  They knew it was weird, it was different, it was kinda sorta not right.  They all knew it but they didn't know what to do or if it was even OK to ask why he does what he does.

"Well with Autism, sometimes the brain can get overloaded.  When that happens he needs a break.  That's when he leaves.  He goes down to the OT room and takes a break.  It gives his brain time to catch up with his body.  He's not in trouble or anything.  His body and brain just need a little extra time to catch up with everyone else."

And that, hands down, was the start of a the best time I've ever spent in the classroom.

I went through why he does what he does and how they can help.  How to be a friend, what to do with him and what not to do.  And that sometimes being a friend is work but in the end it would be worth it.

The whole time I kept my eye on Alex.  I was so worried about how he felt, about what I was saying.  I was outing him.

To be clear:  I asked him before I even agreed to talk to the class if he was OK with it.  I asked if he wanted me to do it and he agreed.  He wanted me to come in and talk to the class, he just didn't want to be there.  At the last minute, that morning, he changed his mind and we all agreed that we would keep to his wishes.  We would do what he wanted to do.  This was not about us.  This was about us helping him and if he was not happy with that, or uncomfortable in any way, then the deal was off.

The amazing part was?  As soon as the kids asked to see his headsets, Alex piped up from the back of the classroom, "You wanna see them?  That would be awesome!  Let me show you how they work...."  He worked his way from the back of the room to the center, with his headsets, and started showing them to the other kids.  And he smiled, a big happy smile.

And in that moment I found hope.

I found hope.

A story about autism and being different from Lizbethcole29

Things we did that worked:

• We respected what Alex wanted, every step of the way.  
• The teacher asked the students questions about what they knew, and didn't know, about Autism a few days prior to me coming in.  I worked those questions into the presentation. 
• I did a PowerPoint so the kids had something to look at.
• The PowerPoint was turned into school prior to me coming in so they knew what was going to be discussed.  No surprises.  
• A booklet, made directly from the PowerPoint, that went home with each child so their parents could see what we talked about.
• Using the comparison of a Nintendo Operating System to a PlayStation Operating System to define the differences in their brains.  For whatever reason, they totally understood what I was saying.  
• We kept it short.  The whole thing lasted 25 minutes, tops. 
• I could not have done this without our teachers and their support and understanding.  

I did forget to mention---around slide 13, where I talk about making friends, I went over "Social Rules" and how they are very difficult to understand.  That with Autism, he often needs help understanding what those rules really are.  It can be anything from standing in line, to playing a game of tag, to getting food from the cafeteria.  That all the rules they understand and just 'get' they are difficult for him.  I tied that back in to the areas where they can help.   

So that's it, I hope in some small way this helps if you are going into the classroom.

I'm learning to live with Dragons in our house.

We have a new love in our house, it's iThing related.  Every love affair in this house is iThing related.  I lay the blame squarely at my husbands feet.  Usually when I go out for a bit and wonder the aisles of Walmart or Target for some alone time (don't judge me) he has to fend for himself with the kids.

His fending for himself involves a movie, the Wii or a new app/game on the iThing's.  They all have a good time and when I get back home, the house is reasonably unharmed so I go with it.  I've learned to pick my battles around here and if he's watching the kids, I don't raise a fuss unless there's a hole in the wall or a tent in the back yard.

Both of which have happened, don't ask.  

Anyway, when I came back from the store, my phone was whisked out of my hand and had DragonVale installed in a matter of seconds.  Seconds.

You smug little Wizard you.  

From that moment forward, I have had no peace.  None.  We've been talking about dragons all day, all night, all the time.

"Mom, did you see I have a Cold Dragon?  Lizzy doesn't have one.  Hey Lizzy, guess what kind of dragon I have?  I have a COLD DRAGON!"  Alex screams, happy as a clam he has a new dragon and mindless of the shit-storm Lizzy's going to unleash because she doesn't have a Cold Dragon.

"What?!  You have a Cold Dragon?!?  That's so not fair!  Mom, that's not fair!  I wanted a Cold Dragon!  That's not fair!!!" she wails, stomping around the house in a huff, bound and determined to make our lives miserable.

I would like to say it's stopped there.  It has not.  Lizzy's been bent out of shape ever since.

Until.

Until there was a promotion and DragonVale had this thing where you could enter and possibly receive a Sapphire Dragon.  The to die for dragon.  The dragon to beat all other dragons.

Long story short:  Lizzy got one, Alex did not.  I will save you the histrionics, meltdowns and furor that has been unleashed in this house.  Lizzy is good at payback and lets just say she's paid back, in full.

The Pandora's box of DragonVale.

Have I mentioned the fury/angst/horror that has been unleashed because Alex didn't get a Sapphire Dragon?  I have???  It bears repeating.  It's brought me to my knees.

I've had to write not one, but two letters, into school letting them know what's going on.  Something along the lines of:

"Alex is coming in to you very upset because he's not received the Sapphire Dragon in DragonVale.  I thought you should know so you can break him accordingly.  I don't know what DragonVale is either.  In other related news, tell Lizzy congrats."

I thought this was a one day event.  Lizzy got her dragon, end of story.

Not so.

Apparently the damn thing had to hatch.  See, in DragonVale they gave the eggs out as the promotion.  They still had to incubate and then the dragons hatch the next day.  

So I had to send in another letter, the next day:

"Another rough AM here.  Apparently the dragons of DragonVale need to hatch.  Lizzy's Sapphire Dragon hatched this AM sending Alex into another meltdown.  In other related news, I'm going insane and I hate dragons."

At one point I called my husband and it went a little something like this, "What in the fuck- fuck-fuck is DragonVale?  Wait, don't answer that.  Just tell me how we get Alex a Sapphire Dragon.  Can you gift it to him or something?  WAIT, WHAT?!?  IT COSTS $100!!!  Real America dollars?!?  Are you shitting me?!?   You have to fix this honey, I can't handle another morning like this."  

Yeah, turns out DragonVale was promoting these gems because they're fucking expensive.  The only way Alex could get the coveted dragon, was if I play and gift him gems. When he gets enough gems he can get a Sapphire Dragon.  

That was last week.

I've set strict limits on the kids iThings and we're somewhat back to normal.  Turns out, Alex was gifted another dragon as part of the promotion which is valuable in its own rights, so he's happy.

My very own Dragon Island.

The problem is, I've been sucked into DragonVale.  I've managed to get up to level 12 and I want the Sapphire Dragon.  Someone give me some gems would you?  I want that damn egg.

I gotta go, I have to pick which dragons I want to fight in the Colosseum.    

In which I talk about my GI system. At length. There's your warning.

I swear to God, I've been sick for the last week and I've narrowed it down to two things: Stress and a visit from my husband's aunt.  She traveled in from out of town and cooked for us.

That was last week.

I've been sick ever since.

Maybe it's a combination of being stressed and the visit, I don't know.  My stomach has been pushed right over the edge.  I've spent more time looking at the four walls of my bathroom and I've named the spider that's hanging out in the bottom right corner, next to my sink, Running bra.

That damn spider has set up shop next to the laundry pile and that one bra is just close enough, I'm not willing to touch it--the spider or the bra.  

Spider wins the battle and keeps the bra.

I know.  I'm not that creative to begin with but when you're losing half your body weight our your ass, the mind starts to shut down.  All creative thoughts are purged and the only thing I can think of is, "Oh My Fucking God, I think I have a tapeworm.  Can you get a tapeworm in today's day and age?  A parasite maybe?  Oh Jesus...I swear to be good, just please make this stop, I will never eat fried egg rolls again.  Oh God, I have to get the kids in a few minutes."

So that's what I've been doing this past week.  You know, besides picking out a whole exterior for the house and thinking of the different and varied ways to maim the kids that bullied Alex last week.

On the upside, I think I've dropped three pounds.

This would have nothing to do with my GI issues.
Nothing.  I'm sure of it.  

So yeah, I've been out of commission.

That and the kids are just not happy.  The change back to school is wearing thin.  I almost got my mouth sewn shut with toothpicks when I mentioned homework.

Homework.

That dirty little whore.  Alex has an on again, off again relationship with homework and right now we're in the OFF phase.  As in, I've had to call school and tell them we're not quite there yet and I'm sorry the 'All About Me' collage is really 'All About Lego's' and absolutely nothing about Alex, unless of course, you count that he is all about Lego's, then that would totally work.  Thank God his teachers are understanding and they're letting it slide.

So I'm trying to get back to a Monday, Wednesday, Friday posting but right now it's just not happening.

I'll be back to posting as soon as I get this tapeworm out of my system.      

Even an Autism Strong Mom needs a little help.

I've managed to get a few minutes to myself which I find ironic since my kids normally won't leave me alone to go to the bathroom.  I figured something out and that is, if I stay near them for a few hours they get sick of me and retreat to their rooms for a few minutes.  So I took them to the pool, wore their asses out and now they're off destroying their rooms.

I'll take it.

Most of you know my mom lives here with us.  As in, she lives in the same house with us, under the same roof.  Sometimes people ask, "How can you live with your mom?"  I know what they are implying and I oftentimes get an eye-roll or a snide remark.

I let it all slide.

I don't have the heart to tell them, we can't live without her.  She helps out with the kids and she helps me in ways only another Autism mom could understand.  She gets it.  She knows the other two suffer when I'm pulled to therapies, meetings and when I'm up with worry, trying to sort things out with school.  She knows what its like when Alex is having a bad day and she's there to help.

She gets it.

And I've been struggling lately.  I have a sister who lives in Australia and last week my mom went to visit her.  She'll be gone till almost the end of August.  For me, an eternity.  And I encouraged my mom to go.  I think she should go and I don't want her to feel like she has to stay here and help me, at her expense.  I never want that and I want her to spend time with my brothers and sisters and her other grandchildren.

So if you're wondering where I've been lately and why I've not been around, its because I'm without reinforcements.

How to scare the crap out of yourself?
Put all three in the pool at one time. 

Add to it, its been super hot again here and the kids are reacting.  Alex hasn't been happy with the heat and having to share me completely with the girls?  None of them are liking it.

Oh-My-Fucking-God.

Alex has been stimming and constantly negotiating a better hand at Monopoly.  It never stops.  Every moment of every day, Monopoly.  While I joke about things most of the time, I'd be a liar if I said it didn't wear on me sometimes.

This is one of those times.

And this brings me to a bigger issue, one I know we all think of, and right now its keeping me up at night.  I often joke that I cannot die.  I have to live forever, or at minimum, I have to live long enough to give him all the skills he needs to survive in the world.

I can't die till my job is done, until he can fly.

So I'm trying to get to you as best I can but please know my absence isn't for a lack of trying, its simply from not being able to do everything for everybody.  Sometimes I have to take care of myself, and my family, and right now that's what I'm trying to do.

You see, my son has yet to fly.

He hit the mother-load.

After a long day of therapies, my son looked at me and said, "Mom, I hit the mother-load of special needs, didn't I?"

My heart dropped to my knees.

We were in the car and I couldn't see his face as clearly as I wanted to (damn you stupid rear-view mirror) and I had no idea where he was going with this.  I said the first thing that came to mind, "Whaaaat???"

"I hit the mother-load of special needs.  I have to go to OT, Speech, I saw Dr. B today and we just now came from Group.  And when I'm at school, I have Friendship Group, Gifted and I go and see my other teachers.  And I have asthma.  I just hit the mother-load of problems."

I still wasn't sure where he was going with this.  We've talked before about how he's different and how everyone's different.  That if we were all the same, it would be pretty boring and we all know how much we like being bored.  We've had these conversations and he's uncomfortable.

He knows he's different.

He struggles with knowing what other boys are doing and how most of the time he gets excluded or he just doesn't get it.  He wants to have friends, hell a friend, but everything just moves too quickly and he becomes lost.  Overwhelmed, and eventually on the periphery.  He hurts and my heart aches for him.  

He looked at me in the mirror, with a little smile, and said, "Well, if we were all the same how would I beat you in Monopoly?  I guess my mother-load isn't so bad.  You stink at that game.  You want to play when we get home?"  

"Yeah, sugar-bug.  I sure would."

And that's exactly what we did.

I will beat boredom with a stick if I have to. Someone hand me a stick.

Remember last week when I wrote this post about how my kids were bored and driving me insane?  Well I was out at a store and found this:

And I was all, "Boredom, I'm going to kick your ass.  Thank you very much Table Topics, you have saved my life and together we are going to survive this summer."  And I picked those things off the shelf faster than my kid spying a box set of Lego's.  And for a brief moment I was happy.

Happy to have something new to do and secretly?  I was lying in wait so the very next time my devil-spawn issued that horrible whine of, "I'm bored" I'd be ready.

And of course it took two whole days for them to utter that little phrase and when they did, I pulled that box out of hiding.  Alex started giggling and Lizzy started eye-rolling.  Gracie, I don't know where she was.  I think she was napping.

Anyway, this was the very first one we pulled out:

Are you fucking kidding me?!?  A ninja?  Seriously?  Did they not read my last post???  I swear the world is conspiring against me.

We did it anyway and they found a spider behind a chair in the living room (mental note to call Orkin) and a few lost Burger King toys and then somebody touched something and before I knew it, I was separating them to opposite corners of the room.

Moving, on, we pulled out the next one:

We did and our cake turned out like this:

Awesome.  Pure awesome.  My husband's birthday cake, a complete and utter mess.  It self destructed in the most unnatural and horrible way I've ever seen.  We could only get like five candles on that thing before the rest of it slid right off the top.  We still ate it and best of all?  We laughed.

Then we pulled out the next card:

My short answer on this is, "No, no she does not like surprises and no she most certainly does not like balloons.  And blowing up her own frigging balloons for her own frigging surprise?  No, no, no."

Moving on....

Now we're talking.  Silence.

I will tell you, this lasted for about one minute before I heard, "Ugggh, this is sooo boring!"


Note: I was not endorsed for anything here.  Table Topics probably doesn't even want to know what else we did with their little cards.  I link to them as a way to give credit,  where credit is due.  And we did have fun with them, we still are.  

Survival of the fittest. Problem is, I'm not that fit.

I've been a bit absent here.  I don't know about everyone else but this summer's been a bit rough for us.  I've been trying to get the kids on some kind of schedule and I think I'm failing miserably.  The kids are hot, cranky, sick of each other and I'm right there with them.

By the time I'm able to sit down for a few minutes I've already got one of the kids telling me something about the other one.  They're ratting each other out like its an Olympic sport.  

"Mom, he's touching me!  Stoooop!  Quit touching me!"

"Well, I'm not exactly touching you.  I have my hand approximately one inch from your abdomen and tehcnically that's not touching you."

"Moooooom, that's so not fair!  Make him stop!"

"Ouch!  Mom, she hit me!"

The dreaded words, "I'm bored," have been uttered in this house about 189,493 times, in one day.  By one child.  I have three.  See my problem???

These kids act like I'm killing them every time I suggest an activity and they go out of their way to act like they're dying, truly dying, of boredom.  If my daughter doesn't major in Theatrics in College then you can collect your twenty bucks.  I swear, she's as dramatic as they come and I'm so screwed when she hits the pre-teen years.

Anyway, I've resorted to forcing them to do things, like go to the pool (oh the horrors) and they have fun once they get there but Good God All Mighty the effort involved just getting them stuffed out the door is mind-numbing.

Mind-numbing.

And I've come up with some responces for the kids hounding me 24/7 about how bored they are.  While I want to be involved in what the kids do, I believe they need to sort out some of their own issues.  So I've been saying this on a regular basis:

"Is there blood?"

"Are you dying?"

"Are you even close to dying?"

"No???  Then please work it out and leave me pee.  ALONE."

And it's been like that in our house for the last few weeks.  I'm a glorified referee, the kids are slowly driving me insane and I'm exhausted.  Add to it, the heat, Oh My God the heat, and I think someone may discover our dead bodies after the fact.

Cool down on Monday!!!

So I've been silent, not visiting my friends, not blogging as much and generally been absent because at this point I'm just trying to survive.

And sometimes I think surviving is enough.

I'm a danger to myself...but I can guest post with the best of them. I think.

I'm over at SPD Blogger Network today talking about summertime activities.  Please pop on over and show some love.

Before I sign off, I'll tell you something that happened this past week.....I was putting away our sunscreen other day.  Well, let me rephrase that, I shoved it in a basket, in the garage, to sort out later.  So when later happened, namely around noon the next day, I reached in the basket to get the sunscreen and I got the shit zapped out of my hand.

"OUCH.  GAWD.  FUCK.  What in the hell was that?"  I ripped my hand out of the basket and smashed the shit out of it on the underside of the shelf the basket was sitting on.

"OUCH.  GAWD.  FUCK.  You have got to be kidding me!  What the fuckety-fuck else is going to happen?"  I mumbled as I cradled my limp paw in my other arm.  I was still trying to figure out if I had peed a little bit from whatever tazed me, it shocked me that bad.  My fingers were both on fire and numb at the same time.  Not peasant.

And now the back of my hand hurt.  

Great, just great.

I looked in the basket to find this tennis racket.  Only it wasn't a tennis racket, it was some bug zapper thingie my husband bought and put in the basket of crap.  And it was still turned on.

I got tazed by a fucking bug zapper.

And the back of my hand was really hurting.  My fingertips were getting less numb and tingly but gaw fuck, my hand really hurt.

That is an awesome bit of information right there.  

I looked down and the back of my hand was swelling up.  I smacked my hand so hard on the garage shelf it burst a vessel.  Thanks to my back hurting, I've been on non-steroidals and a glorious side affect?  It thins the blood.  So when I smacked my hand and broke a vessel, it swelled up like a tick.  All this blood was sloshing around on the top of my hand.

I almost threw up.

And that was the point in which I gave up.  I went inside and sat down.  I called my husband, started crying and put ice on my hand.  I managed to elevate it and found an ace bandage and covered it up so I didn't have to look at it.

I guess getting tazed is what it takes to get me to slow down.  

So I'm slowing down.

I should be back on Monday but I make no promises.  I'm going in for some work on my back later today since its not healed up quite as nicely as we would have liked.  

Never in a million years did I think I'd have back pain.  I'm pretty fit, not too fat and don't generally do stupid things.  Wait that last part is a total lie.  I invent stupid things.  And I do them on a regular basis.

Anyway, go and show Pam some love at i Love Shelling if you want to see some pretty shells and me standing upright without a tazed hand and make your way to SPD Blogger Network to see what I have to say about being outside.

Thanks you guys.  Please know I'm doing what I can to survive summer and my kids....and you are a big part of that.

Thank you.

How cool is that?

You know all those inspirational quotes and pictures going around Facebook?  Well, I have a hard time relating to some of them.  I'm not a really rainbow and glitter kind of girl.  I'm more of a straight shooter and undercover sailor.  

I made a few pictures that reflect me and how I feel and put them on Facebook.  I didn't think much of it.  I ran out to get the kids from school, took them to the park and Tae Kwon Do.  Did the usual things.  

I never bothered to check on things because for the most part, I'm oblivious.  And busy.  And tired.  

That and I broke my i-phone so I was not connected, at all.  I was off the grid.  

When I came home, I couldn't believe it.  

The sayings I put up on Facebook have been shared over and over.  

Honestly, I'm a little surprised and humbled.  It's just how I feel about my son.  About my kids.  I really feel I've struck the jackpot with them.  Sure, there are days when I'm PMS'ing and if a child asks, "What time is it?" one more time, I very well may drive chicken skewers through my ears but for the most part, I'd not change things for the world.

And the fact I'm not alone in feeling this way gives me goose-bumps.

I don't know how to say thank you for sharing.  I guess maybe this is it.  Thank you.

I've come a long way since my son's diagnosis.  He has come even further.  I've learned to love him for who he is and he's teaching me more about life and love than I could have ever dreamed of.

And really, how cool is that?


And I know this horse is dead but I'm going to beat it anyway...this all started with Facebook....if you want to, go up and click on that "Like" button, up there on the right, so we can complete the circle and stay in touch.  I'd like that.  

What are you doing here?!?

Go on, get outta here!!!  Head on over to Sunday's, Adventure's in Extreme Parenthood and see what I'm up to.  I'm squatting over there today and it's really comfortable.  She may need a crowbar to get me out.

Wait, we do Ryan tomorrow.

Haha, I said we do Ryan.  I guess I'll have to head home and get ready.

I hear he's in a pool this time....


Update: We're having some technical difficulties at the moment so the post will be up when it's up.  I'll update Blogger when that happens but in the interim, look at this picture and think warm thoughts and what all you're going to do with him tomorrow.  


The Eagle Has Landed.  


The problem has been resolved.  Quit thinking dirty thoughts about Ryan and get going!!!

Gawd, I wanna jump on in there!

I broke the cardinal rule...

I did something I swore I'd never do.  Did it without even knowing or without even caring.  I slowly progressed down this steep hill and found I couldn't get out.  And truth be told, I kinda liked it down there.

I stopped taking care of myself.

I've never been a big fan of winter.  Not that I'm a fan of summer humidity either but I'm not a big fan of those cold, grey days of winter.

They do something to me.  Something bad.

This year it happened so slowly I didn't even know.  With all the mess at school coinciding with the time of year Wyatt died and my husband being out of town more than in, it all just blew up in my face.  I guess all the issues at school tipped the scale.

See, I'm a good cover girl.  I covered it all up.  I always have.  So in real life I was doing what I normally do, going through the motions.  There are no words to adequately describe depression, if that what it was.

I don't know.

I just know I was in a place I didn't want to be.  A place I knew I shouldn't be but I was there anyway.

Stuck.

Going through life with no real interest.

Wanting to leave, to run.  Run far, far away.  This time I wanted to run and not look back.  I wanted to be free of the cold, the grey, the memories and most of all, the stress.

All the stress of trying to help my son who just couldn't figure it out.    

But I've come back.

Back to a better place.  To a better frame of mind.

And I hope it stays that way.


Note: I wrote this several months ago and trust me, I'm back to my old self.  Sometimes it takes a kick the pants, a good friend, a trip to the doctor, whatever, to get back to where we need to be.  


I'm sharing this because it is so important for us to realize we have an overabundance of stress on our shoulders.  We have to take care of ourselves and each other.  And it's OK to ask or seek out help when you need it. 

I don't have a daughter. I have a mule or a llama, whatever.

We were getting the kids ready for bed last night and the next thing I knew, Gracie bitch-slapped Alex across the back.  I guess he was doing something she didn't want him to do.  I think it had something to do with not wanting him to ride her giraffe or some such nonsense.  Either way, bitch-slapping is not allowed in our house.

"Gracie, go say your sorry to your brother right now,"  I asked.  I promptly received the classic "up yours" look from the two year old.  She shakes her head and very clearly says, "No."

"Say your sorry to your brother, right now.  You slapped him and that's not nice, you apologize right now."

Another shake of the head, another "up yours" and another, "No."

"That's it.  You're in trouble.  If you don't say you're sorry but the time I count to thr--," before I could finish Alex chimes in excitedly and says, "I'm waiting, Gracie....still waiting over here for my apology...  Hey Mom, can you spank her now?  I wanna watch you spank her.  Make sure you hit her good and hard where there's no diaper.  That'll teach her the best lesson."

Seriously???

"Go on mom.  You just told me at homework-time to finish what I started.  You said you were going to spank her, so now you have to finish it.  Go on mom, finish it."

So this is where I say a mental., "fuck me" for telling my son to finish his homework and beating it into his brain that we don't give up and we try as hard as we can.  At homework I think I said something along the lines of, "You really have to finish what you started and if you don't there will be no ice cream or i-thing after dinner."  Since that got a luke warm reception I said, "I'm going to email your teacher you're not finishing.  Would you like me to do that?"

He holds his teacher right up there next to God, and the creators of his favorite app Spice War's, so he gave me a huff and the, "Sweet Jesus whatever you do, don't tell my teacher," look and got cracking.  

I knew when I said it, he was going to use my words against me at some point.  I just wasn't ready to hear them back at me so soon.

But really, he was Jonesing for me to spank the shit out of his sister?  I hadn't even gotten to three.  I didn't even think of what was next.  My exact thoughts were more along the lines of, "Gaw, you little turdball, you blew it with ten minutes left in bedtime.  Shit, now we have to play a round of dodge ball and you're as stubborn as a Tennessee mule. I'm going to be really, really pissed-off if you puke on me."  That, right there, was pretty much what was going through my mind.

For the sake of argument, this llama will now be called a mule.
It's late, I'm tired.
Work with me people, work with me.   

I'm a deep thinker.  

Sure, it had flashed across my mind to spank her but I was thinking more along the lines of just chucking her in bed without saying goodnight.  We really don't spank in this house.

"No Alex I'm not going to spank her. This is not really a spanking situation."  And with that I set the bar pretty low and chucked her in bed.

She never did say she was sorry.

Fricking Tennessee mule, I'm raising a mule.

I have no idea where she gets it from.

It must be her father.

This falls under the category of: I couldn't make it up if I tried.

I think we all need a break from last week.  Am I right?  I'm not going to talk about it here and if you've been out in Autism Blog Land, you'll know what I"m talking about.  For those of you who don't know, send me a PM and I'll discuss it further off-line.

The rest of us, I think we need a break.  So I give you what happened to me while I was up visiting my sister in Oregon.  

I'm sorry, I didn't know I needed a flash at 10:00 AM. 

We were on some random beach Ohhing and Ahhing and I hear someone shout my name.

OK, I have to stop right here.  I don't live anywhere near Oregon.  I live in Leawood Kansas.  Kansas people, is a long way from Oregon.  The odds I'd run into someone on the West Coast---slim to none.  

My sister lives a few streets over but her job took her to Oregon for a few months and she asked me to come up and visit her.  Since I was dealing with all sorts of things here, I jumped on the chance.  The odds that either one of us would bump into someone we know on the Oregon coastline is pretty minimal to say the least.  

So, I hear someone exclaiming, "Lizbeth?  Lizbeth, is that really you?  Oh My God, no way!  It is you!"

I'll tell you right now, it doesn't take much to confuse me.  And I was thoroughly confused.

At first I thought I was hearing things, thank you Zak Bagans, and when it dawned on me that I wasn't, I just stood there refusing to turn around.  Maybe they would go away.  

Have I mentioned confrontation is not my strong suit?

And then because we've were driving through the mountains looking at all these pretty streams and we kept giggling about was how hot Brad Pitt was in A River Runs Through It and Legends of the Fall I was kinda hoping for something, I don't know, something better.   

Dude, I can totally see Brad fly fishing this stream.  

I mean, how in the hell did someone recognize me?  There was only one other family stupid enough to be out on the beach besides my sister and I, and I was in about fourteen layers, excluding hats and gloves, since it had been raining for like three months solid there.  I was a cold, damp, soggy mess.  

This was the most we saw of the sun.
Yeah, I can't really find it either.  

Eventually, I had to turn around because I could still hear this random man exclaiming, "Lizbeth?!?" 

Remember that other family?  

Turns out, it was an old boyfriend I had way back when, when I was in college in Cincinnati.  He now lives in Oregon doing God only knows what. 

I would have found out more but his wife was pissed as hell.  

Yeah, about the family part.  He was all super happy to see me and reminisce and his wife, well, she was not.  Boy, she was pissed.  We were barely through introductions before she hissed, and I do mean hissed, "It's raining, were leaving.  Now Andrew."  

Like and idiot I mention that were leaving too and I got such a glare-stare from ice wife I mumbled something about staying for a bit to look at the pretty agates and sea stars.

And the rain bit, seriously?  From the looks of the place, if you stood still long enough moss would grow on you.  The place practically bled water it was so damn wet from all the rain.   

She turned around and stomped away, two kids in tow.  Before I could even tell him how cute his kids were we hear, "Now, Andrew.  NOW."   

*An awkward moment here as we both look at each other wondering what to do.*

I told him to hurry up and catch up and off he went.

Someone remind me the next time I start a blog,
sea stars on the west coast are ugly.

And it took them forever and a day to leave because they had the kids, and they had to buckle them in car seats, and pile in all their beach shit in the back of the minivan, and since I was on vacation I forgot how long it takes to stuff everyone and everything in the minivan and quickly shut the door so nothing falls out, so of course we ran into them in the parking lot.

*Awkward moment number two.*

Man, was he getting his ass chewed.  Something about being stupid, could have left well enough alone, blah, blah, blah....God, I felt bad for him.

My sister and I?  We couldn't stop laughing. 

I heart Ryan but hate unicorns. Still love me?

I'm linking up with Sunday over at Adventures in Extreme Parenthood today.  Playing around with Ryan Gosling like he's my sexy hot social skills partner is fun.  I mean really fun.  I will warn you though, all the opinions from here on out are mine.

I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around some things going around in our community lately.  I've intentionally tried to keep my mouth shut and head low.  I've been struggling with so much else I've not had the intestinal fortitude to articulate how I feel on some things and quite honestly I'm still wrapping my brain around what so many people have said.

There has been a lot said about hating Autism and how that implies a whole host of other things.  It's no surprise here that I have a love affair with foul language.  Sometimes nothing is better than a good old fashioned bad word.  But there is one word we simply do not use in our house---and it's the word HATE.  We banned it early on because for me it's a word that's so powerful, so visceral, so...I don't know.  It brings whatever you are saying up a notch and once said, it puts you on the brink of no return.

But that's just me.  That's what we do at our house.  It may not be what you do at your house and that's your right.  Your right to use your words as you see fit.

I cannot, and will not, condemn someone else for using their words differently than me.  They have a different story.  Sometimes a very different story and I truly can see how they have come to the conclusions they have.  I wonder how they do it.  I wonder how they survive and I am in awe of them for their unconditional love of their child.  They have a right to how they feel and what they say.  And I admire them for it.  I will not judge.  How can I?  It's not my place.

Nor is it anybody elses.

I am the mom of a boy who has Autism.  That is all I know.

PS---Blogger's not playing nice and not letting some people leave comments or letting me leave tracks at other blogs.  Feel free to hate that too!