One day down, two to go...

I've never been a big fan of the Venn Diagram.  I could never understand them.  But then I had an epiphany.  I finally figured it out.  It helped that we lived in the grey area most of the time.  I take that back.  Alex wasn't in the grey area the whole time.  I was.  

I've been on pins and needles trying to get the kids through this visit.  See, all of my husbands family traveled here and that makes the time spent together more intense.  I've been trying to give the kids breaks, walks and private time just so they can be better able to handle things.  

Alex finally lost it at diner time when it was time to come inside and eat.  He stomped and flapped the whole way in and I could just tell by looking at him he was imploding.  I hurried him to the laundry room, turned on the dryer and held him.  Scratch that.  I didn't hold him.  He wouldn't let me.  He quickly worked his way to a corner and started rocking back and forth.  Trying to calm himself.  Trying to block things out.    

Every fiber in my body wanted to reach out to him.  To hug him.  To hold him.  But I couldn't.  Touching him at that moment would have been like trying to hug a cornered panther.  He would have attacked.     

For as much as I wanted to hold him and tell him things were going to be all right, I didn't, I couldn't.  It would have helped me but not him.  

So instead I told him how well he was doing, how loud it was and how hard it was to just be in the same house with all the noise, smells and other kids.  That it hurt my brain too.  He just started crying.  Hot tears went streaming down his cheeks and he was still rocking and holding his knees, working himself into a tight little ball.  I slipped his headsets over his ears and we sat in silence listening to the hum of the dryer.    

And I think that was the worst part of the day.  Sitting in the laundry room, silently cursing the Gods.  Wanting to take it all away but knowing I couldn't.  

Normally there is all sorts of pomp and circumstance about who gets to go first with the food and all sorts of other BS and by the time they're all through patting themselves on the back, the foods all cold.  Not this year.  As we came out of the laundry room, I gave everyone a big fuck you, got my kid a plate of turkey, ripped open a baguette to get to the soft inner bread he likes and, with me as a human shield, we sat down at the table and he ate. 

With a wave of my hand I told them all to help themselves and to stop staring.  And with a look in my eyes, I dared them to say anything.  Anything.  I got him the remote and we watched re-runs of How It's Made.  And I dared them to turn it off.  

They didn't.

And it was at that exact moment I knew we were going to survive this.  

Note: We still have family here and its been it harder and harder to get a few moments to myself.  I am finding I simply cannot do everything so I'm going to take this next week off and get the kids sorted and take care of  them.  I will be back next Friday.  

Wiggle, wiggle wiggle, yeah.

I have so much to say and well, sometimes, life and rules about what I can and can't say just get in the way.  I'm not going to talk about Autism today.  I will give you what has been giving me a giggle when I need a break.

So I give you this.  A video from LMFAO.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyx6JDQCslE

Now this is not for the kids or the faint of heart.  Click that Next Blog button up there and come back later.  But for the rest of you, I'll just say Speedo's, pelvic thrusts and wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, yeah.

Your welcome.

And thank you LMFAO for helping me survive the Holiday.

No go and crucify me in the comments for my music selection.
  

Puppets are the work of the Devil.

So my husband had the insight to tell me that sometimes I can, "Really put my foot in it."  And I can.  There are times when I can see myself, like an angel looking down from above, talking and I Can Not Stop.  I really want to, trust me.  For whatever reason I just don't have the ability.

Anyway, this all started when I got the release form for Lizzy's field trip.  They have this extra section that if parents want to come along you sign up.  The teachers pull your name out of a hat and off you go.  I signed up but never thought I'd be going since Lizzy goes to school with a bunch of overachievers.  The mom's that is.  These lady-bitches have beaten me out of every trip so far this year.  

Well, I got picked.  I had no idea where we were going but I was so happy I finally beat the lady-bitches at their own game.  We were going to see a puppet show.

I HATE PUPPETS.

EVEN WORSE THAN CLOWNS.  

I HATE PUPPETS. 

So there I sat on a bus full of screaming kids thinking to myself:  "Who in their right mind decides they want to have a career playing with puppets?  I mean, what in the hell would possess a rational, able bodied person to wake up and decide they want to make their life's ambition to provide puppet entertainment to the general population?  And that's assuming they're rational.  And in the ghetto, inner city or urban core, where ever.  But really, what kind of person besides Mr. Rogers, wants to go into puppet work?  For children??  Its just not right."    

So there I sat with a bunch of Kindergartners praying to get out of the place alive and unharmed by rogue puppets or snotty six year olds.  Speaking of which, all my friends who are Kindergarten teachers?  You ladies are Saints and should be Canonized or you're crazy.  I'm not sure which.  I just know I could not do your job.  

Look at these freaky-ass things.

Fast forward to later in the evening when I dropped Lizzy off at a birthday party.  The party mom's all, "How were the puppets?  It must have been soooo much fun!"

And I was all, "No, it wasn't fun.  It was downright unnerving.  Scary even.  I mean, there were freaky puppets looking down from the walls and everywhere.  It was the weirdest place I've ever been and I think I'm going to have nightmares and post-traumatic stress from the whole thing.  Gawd, just thinking about it now gives me the shakes.  Uggh, I mean a whole puppet show on Go Dog Go?  I thought time stood still and I was trapped in hell with some wacked-out puppeteer and bunch feral six year olds.  What time to I get Lizzy?  Seven o'clock, right?"

And she's all, "You don't like puppets?  What's not to like about puppets?  What kind of person doesn't like puppets?"  

That's when I realized I had said too much.  

She was looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights, looking into my soul and seeing Satan.  She was truly concerned for my well being and my utter disdain for all things puppets.  I even saw her flinch and take a step back.      

I'm sorry but I don't like puppets.  

And I hate clowns too.

  

Thank you Google Images and Steven King.  

Wonder what she thinks about that.  

Like a horse, I'm spooked.

Remember when I schlepped my whole family down to Sanibel last month to appease my shelling habit?  I'd like to say we went down there because the kids like the beach and it's a great family getaway but the stone-cold truth is that I like to shell and damn-it I'm in charge of this family.  If they want to come on vacation, they can come down to Sanibel and shell with me.  Or they can stay home.  Their choice.

Funny how they all came along with me.

Who wants to see a picture of me?

If you really want to know what I look like and how dolled-up I get to go shelling, go visit Pam's blog, here.  Scroll down, you'll find me.

Pam has this great shelling blog called i Love Shelling and I have been stalking her since, easily, last November.  When we went down to Sanibel this last time I met up with her.  Really, I think she only relented to meeting me in the hopes of serving a restraining order but strange things happen and I ran smack into her on the beach before we were to meet.  Since the cops weren't around and her husband was off too far to hear her screams she had no choice but to say hi.

All kidding aside, I really like her.  I was a little nervous meeting her because I didn't want to be too stalkish but I think I fooled her.

The other lady in the picture I'm with is a wonderful friend I met back in June and I talked about her here.  Funny how you can make such a good friend while looking for a few shells.  Anyway, she came down and we went shelling and hung out.  Can I just tell you how much fun we had???

Anyway, I tell you all of this now because I'm stressed.  Stressed about Thanksgiving and how Alex is going to respond.  And too, I'm worried about how my husband's family is going to respond to seeing the inner workings of how we live.  Because lets face it, our house is set up to live with Autism.  We have index card schedules at the table, taped on the wall where we do homework, where we load and unload backpacks and at the back door where we come in and out of the house.  We have certain times we do things and specific routes we take. We have routines.  We have preferred foods.  We have foods that cause puking just at the mere mention.  We have meltdowns, tears and then we have hugs.  We have a way to do just about everything and that's just us.  And the way we lives brings us peace.  But it's not the way everyone else lives.

Add school and the home construction and I'm a little spooked.

So when I'm stressed I like to go back and think of times where we didn't have any cares other than what's for dinner, when the dolphins going to arrive and how drunk I was going to get.

So that's why I'm looking back a bit right now.

So I can calm down to move forward.    

This little son-of-a-bitch is the reason I have crabs
in my house.  He was Lizzy's "pet" the whole time
we were there.  Serves him right.  

Some of my shells I keep on my desk.
That one with dots in the center?
Shelling Gold.  

In our house it all comes out in the minivan.

So if you saw me on the other day in the car stopped at a red light and I was repeatedly banging my head into the steering wheel, there is a simple explanation.  Really.

We were in the car to go to therapy and Alex asked a very straight forward yet loaded question.

"Mom, did you bring the I-pad?"

Shit.  

"No hon, I totally forgot but you can use my phone, OK?"

"Did you bring my I-touch?"

Shit.  Shit.  Shit.

"No hon I didn't bring that either.  I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry.  Mommy got busy and I just plain forgot and I'm so sorry.  You can use my phone, right?  Right???"

Please God, just use the damn phone.  This one time, please.

"NO I CAN NOT USE YOUR PHONE."

Everything with-in arms reach was suddenly being thrust toward the front of the car.  Backpack, shoes, socks, headsets, yo-yo.  I know, a yo-yo.  You name it, it was being lobbed my way.

Thank God we were going to OT to work on gross motor skills because not a damn thing came close to hitting me.

"YOUR PHONE DOES NOT HAVE GAME SOURCE ON IT.  IT HAS TO BE DOWNLOADED AND YOU CAN'T DO THAT FROM HERE.  ACCCCKKKKK!!!!!!  HOW COULD YOU FORGET?  YOU NEVER FORGET!  I HATE YOU.  I HATE THIS.  I WANT DAD.  HE DOESN'T FORGET THINGS.  ACCCCKKKKK!!!!!  YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE.  I HATE YOU.  ACCCCCCKKKKK!!!!!"

More things being launched from the back seat.  Sparkle nail polish.  A fake spider.  Pencil with an eraser chewed off.  Clearly I need to clean the minivan more often.

"I HATE YOU.  I'M NOT GOING TO LET YOU WATCH THE DVD.  I'M TURNING IT OFF."

And at that point I got a little reprieve as we've been watching Megamind nonstop in the car since we started school on August 17, no I'm not counting, and even thought I love hearing Brad Pitt, quite frankly his wily charms and his sinfully beautiful voice wore off way back in September.  And yes, I still think Angelina is a home wrecker.

I did find it interesting that with all the garbage being relocated to the front of the cabin he held onto the DVD remote.  Clearly he'd managed to hold onto a few marbles.

"I WANT DADDDDDYYYY!!!!!"

And so that is why I was sitting at a red light gnashing my forehead into the steering wheel.

In the hopes of feeling something other than frustration, anxiety and utter pissed-offedness being spewed in my general direction I opted for physical pain.  There was nothing left for him to do but yell.  He'd already lobbed his backpack, shoes, socks and headsets my way, the only thing he had left were words.

And sometimes those hurt the worst of all.

Note:  We made it out of that car ride just fine and he wound up having a good time at OT after all.  I write this as this type of situation plays out almost every single day.  We've learned to cope with meltdowns and have strategies and tools in place for just this sort of thing.  Oftentimes now we are working on preventative rather than defensive measures.  While I never get used to these meltdowns, I have found I have more patience and understanding than I ever thought I possessed.  I write this to let others know they are not alone.  Not by a long shot.