See, this is why I don't get drunk. Or maybe I should do it more often. Now I think I've said too much.

I had a complete meltdown about three weeks ago, right after Alex kicked me in the gut after a pretty rough day at school.  I came home and had a good cry in my closet.  Unlike my kid's meltdown there was no-one there to tell me things were going to be OK.  There was no-one there to make me brownies.  And most of all, there was no-one there to tell me they would kill that mean nasty teacher if she acts up again or, at minimum, threaten her with bodily harm or a good throat punch.

So like the big girl that I am, I made brownies for myself and had a glass of wine (or two or three) as soon as my husband walked in the door.

And since I'm a big girl and I was wearing my big girl panties, I figured the Gods of fortune were smiling down on me.  They were telling me something.

And because I know how to use the computer and a credit card and I could still figure out how to use the two simultaneously, I figured the Gods were really trying to tell me something.

So I got on the computer and went effing crazy.

I booked a trip down to Sanibel using all our frequent flyer miles.  Since I was still a little tipsy and still a little more than upset, I booked the condo I've had my eye on for over a year.  The Gods were really smiling down on me as I managed to score a decent price.  Gotta love Florida in the off season.

And its been one of the better decisions I've made all year.  I told the kids and my husband that we were going back to Sanibel and the smiles, oh the smiles.  Since then, Alex has been surviving school just to get to our trip date.

My husband told me it was the best way to celebrate our anniversary and I knew he understood my stress and how I've been hanging on by a thread.

By A Thread.

So that is how it came to be that we are going out of town in the upcoming week.  Unlike what I did last time, I will not be writing while we're down south.  I'm going to be spending the week with the kids trying to get them to de-stress, have fun and getting drunk.  I mean, me get drunk not the kids get drunk.  Oh hell, you know what I mean.

So when I go silent I will miss you all but I know you of all people will understand.  Understand what it means to get away.  To give the kids a chance to unwind.  To give them something to look forward to.  To give them hope.  And to give them a break.  For me as much as them.

If only I was sober at the time I would have known not to book the trip while Aunt Flow was in town.  Apparently the Gods have a sick sarcastic side as well.  

Feel free to yuck it up in the comments and have your own little party down there.


Note:  This could not be coming at a better time.  Alex punched his para at lunch yesterday and has been melting down both at home and at school more and more frequently.  He has taken to lying about doing things and is generally anxious and scared.  We are having another IEP meeting when we get back and I'm in the process of getting an advocate.  Sigh.   


And I have to find someone to watch our crabs.  See, that doesn't even sound right.  God, I hate those things.   

Things I don't understand but I'm going to blog about anyway. Part 2.

Neighbor tailgaters.

And I don't mean the kind that show up before a Chief's game either.

So we were on our way to school and this ass-hat comes flying out of the subdivision and plants herself right on my back bumper.  She's all waving her hands, "I've got places to go, don't you know who I am," kind of deal, screaming at me, the whole nine yards.  Call it a physiological reaction, I don't know, but I slip right on down to 35 mph.  Every Single Time.  This woman does this same song and dance every morning and we're both going to the same place---school.  Knock it off and start acting like an appropriate role model for your kids.  You're embarrassing yourself.


People who jog in the road.  Against traffic.

There should be a law against that.  I mean seriously, you're running around in the subdivision where none of us driving are actually watching the road.  We're all yelling at the kids in the back seat, trying to see who has their jacket, who forgot lunch and for fucks sake, "STOP HITTING YOUR SISTER."  So, NO, I'm not exactly looking for you when you're running against traffic and I damn near kill you.  I wouldn't be so upset about it but then I just know you went ahead and procreated so now I'm responsible for killing you although technically you died by your own stupidity.  And what really pisses me off is that you passed your genes on to someone else.  Your line is not dead and they are probably equally as stupid.  Matter of fact, it's probably your shitty little kid that's poking fun of mine right now.


Old mean nurses.

I swear they all wind up at my OB's office or General Practitioner's office.  It's like they're put out to pasture and let loose on the general public.  Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  This old bat had the nerve to chastise me for being ten minutes early, not the requisite twenty, and then had the stones to tell me the doctor was running thirty minutes late.  To which I said, "Well, then I'm really right on time.  See how nicely that all worked out?"  To which she gave me the bitter lemon face.  You know, that face you make after you stick your mouth on a lemon, if you're stupid enough to do so.  Bitter lemon face.  She had it.  Bad.


The fact our crabs are still alive.

Can I just tell you, I'm totally over these disgusting little tarantulas in a shell?  Two actually had the nerve to molt and I found spare limbs and body parts all over the crabitat.  Yes, that's actually a word.  And you thought I was weird?  There pages and pages out there on crab love.  Check it out.  You'll have your hand over your mouth in horror, I guarantee it.

I checked in on them the other morning and one of them was eating all the other crab-molted body bits.  Disgusting.  Now one refuses to crawl back into its shell.  I thought for sure it was going to die and four days later it's still hanging on.  I've had to separate it from the other two and buy more shells than it deserves and the damn thing refuses all my offerings.  It won't die or get better.  It's just lingering.


These signs that are on all of our electric utility boxes outside:

See, this just makes me want to go put a stick in there and see what happens.  Aside from his frown it looks like fun.  At least that's what I think and it scares me more than a little.  My kids are just like me and I know it's a matter of time before I see one of them with a stick going for a green box.  Because how cool would it be to see your skeleton with all your clothes still on?  Pretty darn cool.


My mom still stalking me and all of you.

You are out of bounds.  You've still come back here and have gone to other blogs from the comment section and it's beyond frustrating.  STOP IT.  Other bloggers think I am stalking them since YOU are out on their blogs.  I'll explain it to you: since we both live in the same house, we use the same network.  So it looks like ME visiting other blogs when it is really you.  It looks like I'm the weirdo not you.

STOP IT.  Get your own friends and leave mine alone.

To my other blogger friends, please accept my apologies for my mother stalking you and hanging out on your blog and not leaving any comments.

Mom, if you want to find anything out about me walk your ass upstairs and ASK.  This is an invasion of privacy, its weird and I'm over it.



Epitaph: On the fifth, yes fifth, day the crab finally bit it.  Lizzy sobbed like she was up for an academy award and then promptly asked for a replacement.  

Now we have two new crabs, a ton of extra shells for them to do whatever they do in them and purple sand.  See Alex's great job of lining up the empty shells???  The middle-right one was really annoying him as the aperture is on the opposite side and it wasn't going the "right way."  And yes, he had a meltdown over that but it didn't phase him that the sand was PURPLE and they have a PUMPKIN.  Go figure.  

See, this is why birthdays aren't all rainbows and ponies.

Oh my frigging Lord.  It was Alex's birthday Saturday.  And in his mind that meant the sun was going to rise and set with him and he was master of our little universe.  We've been working up to this most holiest of holy days since last week and I knew, just knew, it was going to go pear-shaped.

And it did.  Let's work backwards, shall we???

Thursday:  He wanted brownies for his birthday treat at school.  Not store bought, had to be home-made by mom.  Check.  Brownies made and delivered.

Friday:  He wanted a chocolate cake with chocolate icing.  Also had to be home-made.  Check.  Spent all day making the damn thing and all day the day before making the damn brownies but check.  I made them.  And not to be outdone, Lizzy wanted a WHITE cake.  Homemade.  And I made that and checked it of my list too.

Friday:  He wanted a bouncy house.  Yeah.  A full fledged bouncy house that's like 50 by 100 feet and needs a small generator to run.  Um, yeah.  No.

But then the requests got more and more elaborate.

"I want to eat Pho for dinner."  Pho is this Vietnamese soup that takes like four hours to make.  Read: its a total pain in the ass.

"And then I want Spring Rolls too."  The spring rolls take an additional three hours to make.  Read: an even bigger pain in the ass.

Seeing how it was the day before his birthday and I needed to go to the Asian store to get all the supplies I was starting to get a little short of breath.  There was not enough time.

"And I want to go to Power Play in the afternoon."  Power Play is a kids zone that has bouncy houses and other stuff like shoot-em-up games, mini-roller coasters and a pizza place.

"And I want to go to Tae Kwon Do in the morning."

"And can I open a present now?"

"No, you may not open a present.  It's not your birthday yet.  We need to talk about how all of this is going to play out tomorrow hon, I'm not sure we can do ALL the stuff you want in one day.  Maybe we can eat something else for dinner?"

And then it happened.  Pear-shaped.  He had a huge meltdown Friday night.  I had hoped that Saturday would be a new day and his bad temper would pass.  It did not.

Saturday he woke up saying:  "It's my birthday.  I WANT PHO FOR DINNER.  If I can't then fine, FINE.  I'm going to take all the decorations down and NOT HAVE MY BIRTHDAY.  IF I CAN'T HAVE ANY FUN THEN NO-ONE ELSE WILL HAVE ANY FUN EITHER.  No-one else is going to have fun on MY birthday.  IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!  ARGGGG!!!"

And all the screaming, crying, yelling, hitting, kicking, stomping and banging ensued.  Along with all the streamers and other party decorations being un-ceremoniously yanked off the walls and torn to bits.  BITS.

And that right there is why we have every dresser, bookshelf and large object bolted to the walls in our house.  Had they not been secured, they would have come crashing down.  I am sure of it.

Its amazing how strong a newly minted eight year old can be.

Anyway, I'm not proud to say this but here it is: I snapped.

I yelled back at him something along the lines of, "I know its your birthday.  I get it.  But there are other people in this family.  Our world does not revolve around you.  You want to have a bad day?  Then FINE, have a bad day.  You want ME to have a bad day?  Well FINE, I'm having a bad day.  I'M HAVING SUCH A BAD DAY, I'M LEAVING.  LEAVING.  Your plan to have a bad day worked.  IT WORKED.  Are you happy now???"

And with that, I left.  Left him standing there in total shock, crying and not understanding anything other than I had snapped like a twig on his birthday.

I went for a run.  I damn near killed myself but I ran.  Ran from everything in the house.  Ran from him.  Ran from Autism and ran from everything that I wanted for him that didn't happen.  And most of all, I ran from myself.  Ran from my shitty temper, my anger and my own expectations I had for the day.  I ran.

And then I came back.

And we went to Tae Kwon Do.

And we went to Power Play.  We ate their horrible pizza, minus the cheese, with sauce on the side.

And we bounced in the bouncy house till I thought we were going to see the pizza again.

And OH MY GOD, they have Wheel of Fortune.  THEY HAVE WHEEL OF FORTUNE!!!

And lockers.  THEY HAVE LOCKERS!  LOOK MOM THEY HAVE LOCKERS!!!

And we had Pho.  And cake.  And presents.  No spring rolls though.  I know he knows we didn't have them but he didn't say anything.

And at the end of the day, the sun and moon did rise and set with my little boy, in our little universe.

Happy Birthday little one.

Happy Birthday.


 

A somewhat wordless Wednesday.

 For as much as I am loathe to admit it, the seasons are changing.  We're out of summer and into the shorter days of fall.  Here are some images from the park that we go to on a pretty regular basis.

We are slowly settling into the routine of school and getting used to the sun setting earlier and earlier.

And taking breaks outside when we can as I can see the window on nice weather coming to a close.

I tried to get Alex to come.  He didn't want to go as he's not fond of the outdoors.  I think he said something along the lines of, "I can see nature perfectly fine from the kitchen window.  Thank you."

It was a little moment of alone time with Lizzy.  We managed to find fish and snail shells in the pond and spent a few precious moments together.

Sorry, no pictures of me almost falling in the pond or the foul language that accompanied it.  I'll leave that to your imagination...

I knew I should have buried it in the garbage...

I've been relegated to eating pretty bland and tasteless food since the antibiotic I've been on has torn through my gut like a twister through a corn field.

Nice visual, eh?

Anyway, I was eating mashed potatoes for like the fifth time in three days and even though I'm Irish, I was getting pretty sick of them.  So I made some of that Country Gravy that Wal-Mart sells.  It's that white gravy with pepper in it.  Pretty easy to make, just add water and well, that's it.

So I was eating my mashed potatoes, this time with the gravy, and as I swallowed it I was all, "Oh holy hell, the pepper in this shit-gravy is burning my still tender, not quite fully healed esophagus.  Holy shit balls of fire, I think I'm dying all over again and it may be very possible I choke on my own spit and gravy.  Aggggghhhh."

I swallowed down that horrible bite and grabbed the next thing I saw that was edible, because unlike the rest of you guys, it never occurred to me to make a drink.  I grabbed this banana cake my mom had made earlier in the day.

Not the actual cake in question but you get the general idea.

I took the first slice and choked down a bite or two.  Heaven.  It took the pepper out of my throat and for a brief moment I was happy.

And then my gut kicked in.  Uh-oh.

Oh Lord, I don't think I've ever had to clench my ass-cheeks together as much as I've had to this past week.  And trying to cough and clench?  Now that just ain't pretty.  I keep thinking back to those potato chips that had the warning: may cause anal leakage.  I know, I know.  It's just where my mind wonders sometimes.  Your welcome.  

Anyway, I threw the rest of the cake in the trash and ran upstairs to spend a few quality moments catching up on all my reading.

I forgot about the cake and potatoes and everything else and went back to sleeping cleaning the house and later my mom was all, "How's the cake?"

And I'm all, "Hum, what?"

And she's all, "I see you managed a bit of the cake but I guess it wasn't that good because it looks like it all wound up in the garbage..."

And I'm all, "Oh for fucks sake, I knew I should have hid it in the garbage..."

And that is just one of the many ways I'm sure you're glad you're not me.

I've come back from the dead.

My husband tells me I'm over the worst of things and I should be feeling better soon.  He has it on good authority that I'm on the mend because after coming downstairs yesterday I exclaimed, "Lord, this place looks like a dump," and immediately started to clean up.

And then almost passed out from the exertion.

I feel like an animal in a zoo relocation project that's been tranquilized in the ass and am just now beginning to wake up, wondering where in the hell the last week went.  I have no idea.  I am still foggy.  I guess I was that sick.

I can tell you:

• There is a horrible smell coming from my garbage can.  I have no idea what it is. 
• My kids ate pretty much whatever they wanted for the past seven days.  And that included Cheese Balls for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  
• Orange juice spilled on the floor does not just "wipe up" after a week.
• My bed sheets should be soaked and sanitized in bleach or thrown out.
• A head-rush is not nearly as fun when you are sick and standing at the top of the stairs.  It was much better when you were drunk and twenty years younger.
• There is really nothing on tv at three in the morning.
• There is even less on tv at four in the morning.
• When sick, I stop shaving even though the hair on my body continues to grow.
• The elixir that works best for knocking my ass out is a dose of Tylenol PM with Robitussin followed by an Ibuprofen chaser.
• I may be in liver and renal failure from all the drugs.  It could go either way right now and was worth the risk.
• There are two wall patches next to the toilet in my bathroom from the previous owners I never noticed until the other night at three in the morning.
• And that circle-ring on your butt from sitting on the toilet lasts a lot longer than you think.  Don't ask.  

While I'm trying to clean and figure out what all I missed last week I'll leave you with some pictures of the kids from when we went to the zoo over the summer.  I actually have 9:00 written on the calender and I have no idea what it means.  Do I have to be somewhere at 9:00 or is someone coming over?  I just don't know....

Even thought they got me sicker than a dog, I'll still keep them.


PS--can you guys do me a favor and if you can't leave a comment shoot me an e-mail?  I'm trying to figure out how widespread the problem is....thanks!


Lizbethcole29@yahoo.com