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.
Showing posts with label Home life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Home life. Show all posts
Monday, April 15, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Why yes, I am Autism Aware.
April is Autism Awareness month.
And every April, I'm never quite sure what to think about it, to be honest. When you live with something every day, and it's such a big part of your life, you tend to just man-up and deal with things.
And every April I tend to get squeamish and just wish the whole thing would go away. Sure, I think the idea of awareness is a good thing, don't get me wrong. I just don't like the spot-light shining in my windows. I feel like what I do, what we do and how we do things, is on display for everyone to see and go "Ohh" and "Ahh" and exclaim, "This is Autism....I get it now."
But the thing with Autism is this---its all the time. It's not one day or even one month. It's all the time.
It's late at night when sleep is elusive and just out of reach. It's the routine we follow and it's the clothes we wear. It's the food we eat and what we don't eat. And more specifically, Autism is what we eat on a certain day, a certain way, and how the plate is set with the milk at exactly eleven o'clock, as if the plate were a clock, every single meal.
Autism is taking the exact same way to the store, never deviating. It's going up certain aisles and down others. It's the same DVD that's been in our minivan since 2010. (Megamind, if you're curious.) And it's also knowing which store to go to and when, and which one has paper towels in their bathrooms and not the sonic air blasters.
Autism is dealing with meltdowns and people staring. It's sometimes feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders and wishing like hell, just once, everyone would mind their own business.
Autism is the flapping, toe walking, lining up toys, singular play and lack of interest in others. It's hours and hours of therapy, IEP's and wishing that sometimes you could catch a break---and realizing that the only break you may get is the one in the therapy waiting room.
Autism is all that.
But it's also something else, something more. Something you won't see in a single day or even in a month.
Autism is coming to terms with a new life, a new way of living. It's letting some people go and drift out of your life, while finding others. Autism is sometimes being alone when things are at their worst, yet knowing deep down, you would never dream of being any place else.
Autism is looking at your child and laughing at their joke and being amazed, truly amazed, at the child in front of you.
Autism is getting that first smile, that first word and that first look into their eyes.
Autism is being comfortable in your own skin and helping your child grow into the person they are to become---because you see potential. You see their greatness.
Autism is finding out that things are different but its also knowing you wouldn't change it for the world.
It's finding out too, that you're a different person---a stronger, wiser, person. A person you never thought you'd be. And to take a minute and look back and remember your old self? It's like looking into someone else's life, peering into their rear view mirror and realizing that what's come into focus is different from what you expected, but not completely foreign. And it's realizing that this, this is where you belong.
And that is Autism for us. That's what you'll find when you peer into my windows and take a peek into my life. You'll find Autism, but you'll also find much more. Much, much more.
Autism is a part of us and a part of our lives. Autism just is, it's who we are. And I wouldn't change that for the world, I wouldn't want to.
Autism simply is.
Autism simply is, us.
And every April, I'm never quite sure what to think about it, to be honest. When you live with something every day, and it's such a big part of your life, you tend to just man-up and deal with things.
And every April I tend to get squeamish and just wish the whole thing would go away. Sure, I think the idea of awareness is a good thing, don't get me wrong. I just don't like the spot-light shining in my windows. I feel like what I do, what we do and how we do things, is on display for everyone to see and go "Ohh" and "Ahh" and exclaim, "This is Autism....I get it now."
But the thing with Autism is this---its all the time. It's not one day or even one month. It's all the time.
It's late at night when sleep is elusive and just out of reach. It's the routine we follow and it's the clothes we wear. It's the food we eat and what we don't eat. And more specifically, Autism is what we eat on a certain day, a certain way, and how the plate is set with the milk at exactly eleven o'clock, as if the plate were a clock, every single meal.
Autism is taking the exact same way to the store, never deviating. It's going up certain aisles and down others. It's the same DVD that's been in our minivan since 2010. (Megamind, if you're curious.) And it's also knowing which store to go to and when, and which one has paper towels in their bathrooms and not the sonic air blasters.
Autism is dealing with meltdowns and people staring. It's sometimes feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders and wishing like hell, just once, everyone would mind their own business.
Autism is the flapping, toe walking, lining up toys, singular play and lack of interest in others. It's hours and hours of therapy, IEP's and wishing that sometimes you could catch a break---and realizing that the only break you may get is the one in the therapy waiting room.
Autism is all that.
But it's also something else, something more. Something you won't see in a single day or even in a month.
Autism is coming to terms with a new life, a new way of living. It's letting some people go and drift out of your life, while finding others. Autism is sometimes being alone when things are at their worst, yet knowing deep down, you would never dream of being any place else.
Autism is looking at your child and laughing at their joke and being amazed, truly amazed, at the child in front of you.
Autism is getting that first smile, that first word and that first look into their eyes.
Autism is being comfortable in your own skin and helping your child grow into the person they are to become---because you see potential. You see their greatness.
Autism is finding out that things are different but its also knowing you wouldn't change it for the world.
It's finding out too, that you're a different person---a stronger, wiser, person. A person you never thought you'd be. And to take a minute and look back and remember your old self? It's like looking into someone else's life, peering into their rear view mirror and realizing that what's come into focus is different from what you expected, but not completely foreign. And it's realizing that this, this is where you belong.
And that is Autism for us. That's what you'll find when you peer into my windows and take a peek into my life. You'll find Autism, but you'll also find much more. Much, much more.
Autism is a part of us and a part of our lives. Autism just is, it's who we are. And I wouldn't change that for the world, I wouldn't want to.
Autism simply is.
Autism simply is, us.
Monday, March 25, 2013
I have been bested by Minecraft.
It's no secret our new thing in this house is Minecraft. We held out as long as we could but we finally caved at Christmas. Santa brought the kids Minecraft. It was quite a letdown because all we could wrap was an envelope with the authorization code that needed to be entered into the computer to get the game started. Once they figured it out though they took the envelope and ran with it.
They Ran.
We never saw them for the rest of Christmas. Come to think of it, we saw very little of them in January, February and most of March.
Since then, we've been up to our armpits in Minecraft. Every single thing in this house revolves around it.
And that, right there, is the rub.
We've had to find a happy middle ground where the kids are not plugged into the computer all day and life's passing them by. They, on the other hand, would love to do nothing more than fight zombies and creepers, download mods and watch YouTube videos.
Truth be told, Minecraft is just one little part of the Total Minecraft Immersion. You have mods, seeds, whole new worlds and maps. All of them have to be thoroughly researched and examined on the iPad and then you chose which ones you want to download.
And you have not lived Minecraft till you've lived through the videos. Oh dear God the videos. They are a thing unto themselves.
We started off with these prepubescent teens, screaming, yelling and cussing every other word. They would blow up sheep and use TNT and nuke whole damn worlds. My kids were enjoying it a bit too much so that lasted less than two seconds in this house.
Then we found Mr. Paul. He's the new man in our lives. He's practically been living with us since right after Christmas. His real name is Paul Sores Jr, and I can't tell you the number of night's I've spent with Mr. Paul, waiting for my own husband to come home.
He does the Minecraft videos in a nice, calm manner and he's downright easy on the ears. That may not seem to be a big deal but when you are listening to these things for hours on end sometimes, voice quality becomes very important. Trust me on this.
It got so bad at one point, I called the kids to come up and eat dinner. They wolfed their food down in seconds. SECONDS. Then, before I had had a chance to sit down to eat my dinner, I was being asked, "Mom, can I go back downstairs? Can I, please?!?" I brushed it off figuring if I ignored the question, I could at least get a little something to eat.
I was wrong.
"MOM, can I go back down stairs?!?" Alex asked almost frantic, pacing, having to have an answer right that very second.
"Guys, I need something to eat. Please look around you and put your dishes away. Just give me a minute, would you?"
Well that wasn't even out of my mouth before my cute little kids with absolutely no gross and fine motor skills, found it within themselves to scoop up their dishes, round the bend of the island, turf the dishes into the sink, round the other bend of the island and with the dexterity of a skilled surgeon, set the microwave timer.
All in under ten seconds flat.
I remember standing there thinking, "What in the fuck just happened? Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen them move that fast, Alex was almost fluid, even. I could really use this Minecraft thing to my advantage."
And then it dawned on me, "Hey, why did you guys set the timer?"
"Well mom, you said to give you a minute. I'm giving you exactly one minute. Well, you now have forty-six seconds."
So I stood there looking at my older two kids, all of us looking at each other, a three way stare down, going back and forth from looking at them to the microwave timer and back. I never knew how excruciatingly long a minute, or forty-six seconds, could be until you're in a stare down with your two kids and the microwave.
DING!
And just like that, my older two ran like they had flaming fireballs on their heels, down the steps to the computers, back to Minecraft. One of them ran around the corner, overshot it and smack-landed in the other side of the wall. They righted themselves and kept right on going. I could hear them in excited voices, "Hey lets see if we can get new saddles to ride the pigs!"
Gracie and I stood there looking at each other, wondering what in the hell just happened.
I stood there trying to figure out why in the hell a pig needed a saddle.
And that is one day in our life, living with Minecraft.
And I still don't know why a pig needs a saddle. I did find out you have to have a carrot though.
They Ran.
We never saw them for the rest of Christmas. Come to think of it, we saw very little of them in January, February and most of March.
Since then, we've been up to our armpits in Minecraft. Every single thing in this house revolves around it.
And that, right there, is the rub.
We've had to find a happy middle ground where the kids are not plugged into the computer all day and life's passing them by. They, on the other hand, would love to do nothing more than fight zombies and creepers, download mods and watch YouTube videos.
Truth be told, Minecraft is just one little part of the Total Minecraft Immersion. You have mods, seeds, whole new worlds and maps. All of them have to be thoroughly researched and examined on the iPad and then you chose which ones you want to download.
And you have not lived Minecraft till you've lived through the videos. Oh dear God the videos. They are a thing unto themselves.
We started off with these prepubescent teens, screaming, yelling and cussing every other word. They would blow up sheep and use TNT and nuke whole damn worlds. My kids were enjoying it a bit too much so that lasted less than two seconds in this house.
Then we found Mr. Paul. He's the new man in our lives. He's practically been living with us since right after Christmas. His real name is Paul Sores Jr, and I can't tell you the number of night's I've spent with Mr. Paul, waiting for my own husband to come home.
He does the Minecraft videos in a nice, calm manner and he's downright easy on the ears. That may not seem to be a big deal but when you are listening to these things for hours on end sometimes, voice quality becomes very important. Trust me on this.
It got so bad at one point, I called the kids to come up and eat dinner. They wolfed their food down in seconds. SECONDS. Then, before I had had a chance to sit down to eat my dinner, I was being asked, "Mom, can I go back downstairs? Can I, please?!?" I brushed it off figuring if I ignored the question, I could at least get a little something to eat.
I was wrong.
"MOM, can I go back down stairs?!?" Alex asked almost frantic, pacing, having to have an answer right that very second.
"Guys, I need something to eat. Please look around you and put your dishes away. Just give me a minute, would you?"
Well that wasn't even out of my mouth before my cute little kids with absolutely no gross and fine motor skills, found it within themselves to scoop up their dishes, round the bend of the island, turf the dishes into the sink, round the other bend of the island and with the dexterity of a skilled surgeon, set the microwave timer.
All in under ten seconds flat.
I remember standing there thinking, "What in the fuck just happened? Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen them move that fast, Alex was almost fluid, even. I could really use this Minecraft thing to my advantage."
And then it dawned on me, "Hey, why did you guys set the timer?"
"Well mom, you said to give you a minute. I'm giving you exactly one minute. Well, you now have forty-six seconds."
So I stood there looking at my older two kids, all of us looking at each other, a three way stare down, going back and forth from looking at them to the microwave timer and back. I never knew how excruciatingly long a minute, or forty-six seconds, could be until you're in a stare down with your two kids and the microwave.
DING!
And just like that, my older two ran like they had flaming fireballs on their heels, down the steps to the computers, back to Minecraft. One of them ran around the corner, overshot it and smack-landed in the other side of the wall. They righted themselves and kept right on going. I could hear them in excited voices, "Hey lets see if we can get new saddles to ride the pigs!"
Gracie and I stood there looking at each other, wondering what in the hell just happened.
I stood there trying to figure out why in the hell a pig needed a saddle.
And that is one day in our life, living with Minecraft.
And I still don't know why a pig needs a saddle. I did find out you have to have a carrot though.
Monday, March 18, 2013
What? You're not Irish?
I am Irish. I'll wait till the severity of that sinks in.
My dad came from Ireland and for my whole life, I've grown up around hot tea, wool sweaters and mashed potatoes with every single meal. I've heard enough hornpipe and bagpipes to last a lifetime and I also know how to do a jig and a reel in my sleep. If push comes to shove, I can slug out a steady stream of cuss words in full accent, always starting off with, "Bloody Hell..." I do it much better, however, when I'm piss wasted, just saying.
Anyway, my mom gears up for the Holy Day like no other. Lizzy does Irish dance and she's been prostituted out like a French whore to every old folks home in Kansas City for the past two weeks. She danced for miles and miles in parades and snow and she just keeps on going.
 |
| I have danced my ass off. |
But what tops our St. Patrick's Day festivities is the clothes. Aside from walking around in green for the last two weeks, my mom tries to get anyone she can to dress in green with her. Since the three year old is still young and vulnerable, and she doesn't run fast enough, she gets stuck wearing what Grandma puts her in. And Grandam bought Gracie this cute little green shirt. See that thing down there? My mom kept telling me about the, "Adorable little shirt," she bought for her. She failed to realize that all the white shamrocks, when put together, made a shape.
A SKULL.
My mom bought the girls skin-head tee shirts for St. Patrick's Day.
All they needed were a few tube socks full of rocks and they could go out and raise hell, in true Irish fashion, with their brother.
 |
| I have no earthly clue what she is doing. Practicing to lead jets down the jetway, I guess. |
All they needed were a few tube socks full of rocks and they could go out and raise hell, in true Irish fashion, with their brother.
Only fitting I put Creeper heads on the girls. Bonus points because they are green.
And then I made this:
 |
| Anyone sends this to Cake Wrecks and I'll find you and gut you. Fair warning. |
An Irish Lamb Cake.
Normally in our house the Sacrificial Lamb Cake is reserved for Easter but I wanted to get an early start. Nothing says, "Happy St. Patrick's Day!" like cutting into the green guts of a lamb.
And go read this right here, if you want to hear about our past Easter fun but I suggest you stop drinking your soda because we don't do holidays in the normal fashion around here. You've been warned.
I already know, I totally fucked up the icing. It got all droopy and was a bloody mess. The kids thought it was hysterical, renamed it George, and instead of a lamb it was now a sheepdog.
Whatever.
And what did Alex do for St. Patrick's Day? He played Minecraft, watched YouTube videos about Minecraft, downloaded mods for Minecraft, made Minecraft skin, new Minecraft worlds, found emeralds and redstone and generally talked my ear off about? Minecraft.
I went with it.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
If this is not rock bottom I'm gonna be pissed.
You know what is awesome about pneumonia?
NOTHING is awesome about pneumonia, that's what's awesome about pneumonia.
My kids gave me one hell of a cold that turned into a sinus infection that turned into a antibiotic resistant strain of pure evil that set up shop in my lungs. Anyone else thinking of that Musinex commercial now? For the past two weeks I've been working on breathing. Just breathing.
And when I'm sick its amazing what gets lost in the cracks of everyday life.
The kids had an after school art program they were begging to go to, just begging. I signed them up and promptly, and totally, forgot about it.
So that Monday my daughter went out after school for me to pick her up only I wasn't there. Somewhere in the back corner of my mind I knew she had after school art but here's the rub: she did not.
I didn't remind the kids what the day looked like from our daily calender and she didn't know.
After twenty minutes of standing outside, the secretary figured out what was going on and ushered her into the art room. You know, the art room her brother was happily sitting in, crafting away. See, he remembered he had after school art. It just never crossed his mind to see where she was.
When she walked into the art room and saw him happily crafting away she broke down in tears all over again.
When I went to pick the kids up I was pulled aside, told what happened and again my little girl went turned into a complete and utter puddle.
I felt horrible. She was out front waiting for me and I never came. Talk about feeling like a shitty, horrible parent. I calmed her down, bribed her with a trip to Dairy Queen that was mostly more for me and I thought things were right with the world.
Only they weren't.
"You don't love me. You hate me. I think I want a new mom. If I had a new mom, she'd never forget me. She'd love me...and make me cookies....and not forget me in front of school."
All the way home.
I had enough. I snapped pulling into the subdivision. Pulled a hard right and curbed the minivan. All the safety harnesses were working on the seat belts. I confirmed it.
"GOD BLESS AMERICA, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you! Mommy's sick! I don't feel good. You guys gave me some horrible plague and I'm sorry I forgot one little thing. I'm sorry!"
Cough, cough, cough, hack, hack, cough.....shallow breath in and....
"You know, you guys are old enough to look at that calender in the morning and see what is going on in your lives. It's up there for a reason and it's most certainly not there for my health. Now I want QUIET for the rest of the way home!"
And I pulled back out onto the street and drove the whole fifty feet to our house in silence. Only to walk inside and to be met by a calender that looked like this:
And two kids, exclaiming, "See!!! How can we possibly know what is going on, Gracie drew all over it! This is all your fault. Our new mom would never let this happen!"
I gave up. I swear, one day I will have grown children that can function for themselves. God as my witness, I will. They may be in therapy for the rest of their lives but by God, it will happen.
Right now I want their new mom to come in here and see what she can do with this place, she can start by cleaning that damn calender board. That things a mess.
NOTHING is awesome about pneumonia, that's what's awesome about pneumonia.
My kids gave me one hell of a cold that turned into a sinus infection that turned into a antibiotic resistant strain of pure evil that set up shop in my lungs. Anyone else thinking of that Musinex commercial now? For the past two weeks I've been working on breathing. Just breathing.
And when I'm sick its amazing what gets lost in the cracks of everyday life.
The kids had an after school art program they were begging to go to, just begging. I signed them up and promptly, and totally, forgot about it.
So that Monday my daughter went out after school for me to pick her up only I wasn't there. Somewhere in the back corner of my mind I knew she had after school art but here's the rub: she did not.
I didn't remind the kids what the day looked like from our daily calender and she didn't know.
After twenty minutes of standing outside, the secretary figured out what was going on and ushered her into the art room. You know, the art room her brother was happily sitting in, crafting away. See, he remembered he had after school art. It just never crossed his mind to see where she was.
When she walked into the art room and saw him happily crafting away she broke down in tears all over again.
When I went to pick the kids up I was pulled aside, told what happened and again my little girl went turned into a complete and utter puddle.
I felt horrible. She was out front waiting for me and I never came. Talk about feeling like a shitty, horrible parent. I calmed her down, bribed her with a trip to Dairy Queen that was mostly more for me and I thought things were right with the world.
Only they weren't.
"You don't love me. You hate me. I think I want a new mom. If I had a new mom, she'd never forget me. She'd love me...and make me cookies....and not forget me in front of school."
All the way home.
I had enough. I snapped pulling into the subdivision. Pulled a hard right and curbed the minivan. All the safety harnesses were working on the seat belts. I confirmed it.
"GOD BLESS AMERICA, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you! Mommy's sick! I don't feel good. You guys gave me some horrible plague and I'm sorry I forgot one little thing. I'm sorry!"
Cough, cough, cough, hack, hack, cough.....shallow breath in and....
"You know, you guys are old enough to look at that calender in the morning and see what is going on in your lives. It's up there for a reason and it's most certainly not there for my health. Now I want QUIET for the rest of the way home!"
And I pulled back out onto the street and drove the whole fifty feet to our house in silence. Only to walk inside and to be met by a calender that looked like this:
 |
| She in PJ's....don't judge. |
And two kids, exclaiming, "See!!! How can we possibly know what is going on, Gracie drew all over it! This is all your fault. Our new mom would never let this happen!"
I gave up. I swear, one day I will have grown children that can function for themselves. God as my witness, I will. They may be in therapy for the rest of their lives but by God, it will happen.
Right now I want their new mom to come in here and see what she can do with this place, she can start by cleaning that damn calender board. That things a mess.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 5, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, October 19, 2012
I'm going to be shark bait.
Remember when the kids got sick? And then the husband got sick? And then I got sick? Remember that??? Well, somewhere in that time frame, I snapped. I frigging lost it. Had enough with sick kids, sick husband and sick me. I snapped like a twig.
I did the unthinkable, called the husband at work and begged, pleaded and then demanded he come home and help me out. I may have suggested I was going to throw myself out an upper window, or something that drastic, to get his attention. I may have put that suggestion into his head, I don't know. I was exhausted, I was feverish and I was quite possibly hallucinating.
And I may have thrown a fit like a two year old asking, begging, pleading that he please go to Walgreen's and get antibiotics for all of us or I may throw myself out that same upper window again. Now to be clear, if I did throw myself out that window I'd land in the bushes, probably break an arm, or some other extraneous appendage, and then I'd still have to clean the kitchen and make dinner because the fall would merely maim and not completely do me in.
Anyway, in my delirium and feverish state I may have said something along the lines of, "I need a break. I can't do this. I can't have you sick people all needy and depending on me when I'm sick. Why, why, WHY, can't our kids just sit in front of the TV? Why can't anyone just eat a regular pizza and not puke? And WHY is it so frigging cold in here?"
To which my patron saint of a husband had the stones to say, "Hon, it's not cold in here, you're burning up." And then, thinking I was more lucid and in a more adventurous mood than I really was, he said, "I can't help if the kids got your genes and don't like pizza."
In hindsight I know he was trying to be funny but trying to be funny with your wife who's not showered in three days, handled more puke than necessary in any one lifetime, and has been without sleep and sick herself for the last week was probably not in his best interest.
No, I know it wasn't in his best interest.
And that's where I snapped.
"I can't do this. I need a break. I'm sick. I can't be in charge of everything when I think there is a pony in the kitchen and can't you empty the damn dishwasher? And for the record, I do not have bad genes. They come from your family!"
I said a lot more than that but it was all nasty, mean and not necessarily true. There was no pony in our kitchen. My husband backed out of the corner I put him in and the next day surprised me by saying, "I've worked it out and we're going away for a week. No kids, no nothing, just you and me."
And for a brief moment I was happy, I had an out. I knew there was an end in sight. And then I asked him, "When are we going?" Knowing that one week out of four were pretty good odds but still...
And as it turns out, we're going down to Sanibel. For one solid week, we'll have no kids, no nothing, just the two of us. And one tag along bag full of tampons, pads and pain killers.
I'm going to be shark bait, chum.
AWESOME.
Wait. You don't think that was his plan all along, do you?
Friday, October 12, 2012
My kid can negotiate better than your kid.
Good Lord, God All Mighty. My son has been starting up on something new and I'm not liking it. Not liking it one bit. Seems when he doesn't get his way, when I ask or, God forbid, tell him what to do, he turns into the defense team representing OJ Simpson.
A simple request turns into a full fledged negotiation and the negotiation takes longer than the actual request to begin with. There have been times where I've just given up and said, "God dammit, I've asked you to go do something, please go and do it. NOW."
That is met with, "ITS NOT FAIR. I HATE YOU. I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF MY GAME AND ALL MY DATA WILL BE LOST. AGGGGHHH!!! I HATE YOU!" And if that weren't enough, he goes up to his room stomping all the way, all thirteen steps, slams his door and tears apart his room.
Add to it, he's still yelling, "I HATE YOU. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU HAVE A BAD DAY. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOUR DAY HORRIBLE."
I try my best to ignore these statements while he's coming undone but it's hard. He seems to think that because he's having a bad day, everyone else around him should as well. He takes it upon himself to make sure your day is as bad as his.
There was one particularly bad day where he said these things to me and I just lost it. Lost it completely. I lashed back at him and yelled, "You wanted me to be mad? You wanted me to be mad? Well now you've got it. I'M MAD. NO, I'M PISSED OFF. Look at me. Look at my face and see what it looks like. That's mad. Now go to your room, NOW."
At the time, even though I was madder than hell, I was telling him to look at my face. Some weird kind of teaching moment I know. Even through my own anger I was still trying to teach him.
And he looked at me, scared to death and said, "Can you not make chicken nuggets for dinner? I prefer mini-corn dogs."
Fucking mini-corn dogs. I lost it over mini-corn dogs.
After a few minutes I went upstairs and listened at his door. I could hear him tearing apart his things. The meltdown was over but he was sobbing and sniffing. I felt like shit.
To be honest, I was sobbing on the other side of the door.
A little later, I talked to him and we patched things up but not without residual memories for both of us I'm afraid.
I know he says these things because he's out of control and he's seeking to gain that control back. I know that. I really do. He's trying to put his mind, and his world, back the way he wants it. The way he wants it to be. But it doesn't always work that way. He can't play his i-Touch all the time and he can't be in control all of the time either.
I know these things and I know why he's lashing out but sometimes this ride is hard. Sometimes I loose it. And sometimes I loose it completely.
I know this new skill of negotiation comes from the stressors of the day, school and everything else that puts his mind to worry. I know this is his way to seek out stability in his life. I know that.
So asking him to do a simple thing such as putting his folder in his backpack or putting forks on the table will not happen, it's going to have to wait. It's too much for him.
I will do it.
And I'm OK with that.
Note: I write this here because I lose it sometimes. I do, we all do. We wouldn't be human if we didn't. I used to be afraid or ashamed to admit that, that I'd be less than a 'good mom' if I said that out loud.
I put words to what happens in our house so others may realize they're not alone. That we all, occasionally, have a moment. Deep down, we're all doing as best we can.
A simple request turns into a full fledged negotiation and the negotiation takes longer than the actual request to begin with. There have been times where I've just given up and said, "God dammit, I've asked you to go do something, please go and do it. NOW."
That is met with, "ITS NOT FAIR. I HATE YOU. I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF MY GAME AND ALL MY DATA WILL BE LOST. AGGGGHHH!!! I HATE YOU!" And if that weren't enough, he goes up to his room stomping all the way, all thirteen steps, slams his door and tears apart his room.
Add to it, he's still yelling, "I HATE YOU. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU HAVE A BAD DAY. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOUR DAY HORRIBLE."
I try my best to ignore these statements while he's coming undone but it's hard. He seems to think that because he's having a bad day, everyone else around him should as well. He takes it upon himself to make sure your day is as bad as his.
 |
| A picture of the two of us he tore to bits in a meltdown along with half of his room. This is what hurt the most. |
There was one particularly bad day where he said these things to me and I just lost it. Lost it completely. I lashed back at him and yelled, "You wanted me to be mad? You wanted me to be mad? Well now you've got it. I'M MAD. NO, I'M PISSED OFF. Look at me. Look at my face and see what it looks like. That's mad. Now go to your room, NOW."
At the time, even though I was madder than hell, I was telling him to look at my face. Some weird kind of teaching moment I know. Even through my own anger I was still trying to teach him.
And he looked at me, scared to death and said, "Can you not make chicken nuggets for dinner? I prefer mini-corn dogs."
Fucking mini-corn dogs. I lost it over mini-corn dogs.
After a few minutes I went upstairs and listened at his door. I could hear him tearing apart his things. The meltdown was over but he was sobbing and sniffing. I felt like shit.
To be honest, I was sobbing on the other side of the door.
A little later, I talked to him and we patched things up but not without residual memories for both of us I'm afraid.
I know he says these things because he's out of control and he's seeking to gain that control back. I know that. I really do. He's trying to put his mind, and his world, back the way he wants it. The way he wants it to be. But it doesn't always work that way. He can't play his i-Touch all the time and he can't be in control all of the time either.
I know these things and I know why he's lashing out but sometimes this ride is hard. Sometimes I loose it. And sometimes I loose it completely.
I know this new skill of negotiation comes from the stressors of the day, school and everything else that puts his mind to worry. I know this is his way to seek out stability in his life. I know that.
So asking him to do a simple thing such as putting his folder in his backpack or putting forks on the table will not happen, it's going to have to wait. It's too much for him.
I will do it.
And I'm OK with that.
Note: I write this here because I lose it sometimes. I do, we all do. We wouldn't be human if we didn't. I used to be afraid or ashamed to admit that, that I'd be less than a 'good mom' if I said that out loud.
I put words to what happens in our house so others may realize they're not alone. That we all, occasionally, have a moment. Deep down, we're all doing as best we can.
Friday, October 5, 2012
And then we tried to play golf.
I went in yesterday to talk about Autism with the children in Alex's class. This is not that post. That will be on Monday. I had problems linking Power Point to Blogger so it will have to wait till Monday.
Over the past weekend we took the older two out to the driving range to chuck some balls. Alex has been practicing golf in the back yard for a while now and while I don't worry about balls flying and smashing windows, I am getting a little concerned with the gaping maws he's putting in the yard. You have to understand that for every ball he hits, he wiffs about five. That means I have five brand new chunks of grass/dirt/mud to replace for every one he hits. Lets just say I have a shitload of holes in my yard right now.
Anyway, we decided to up the ante and go to the driving range. Now, I'll be the first to tell you we live in a stuck-up, snotty, fake boob, my ring's bigger than your ring kind of neighborhood. I think its funnier than hell and oftentimes I wind up staring at their fake boobies, trying to figure out why the nipples don't line up and how on earth can she walk with yoga pants stuffed that far up her crack?
That's the kind of girl I am.
Anyway, we went to the driving range. It was outside, so we were using our outside voice. Our really loud, Oh My God I'm so excited to lob a few balls in someone else's yard and OH MY GOD, there is a machine that gives you balls?!? HOLY COW, Dad you gotta come and see this voice. That was the kind of voice we were using.
And then I looked over to the driving range to see everyone staring at us. Every Single Person. Clearly we'd not gotten the memo to shut the frick up while at the driving range. And do you know what I did?
I smiled back at them, at every single one of them. I didn't explain a thing, I just let it be. I'm to the point that if I say anything, or try to explain away his behaviors, I'm lessening him, I'm devaluing him as a person and I won't do that.
I just smiled at the people and quietly explained to Alex that we have rules at the driving range and one of them was to use an inside voice outside.....I'll save you the dialogue that everyone heard but suffice it so say it made no sense to him.
Honestly, I say can't blame him.
He was so excited, he was having such a good time. He couldn't believe there was such a thing as a golf ball dispensing machine and he was trying to figure out if the mechanisms were similar to a pop machine.
They were.
There was one husband and wife duo who were looking at us like we were devil spawn incarnate. The thing is? She got it right away. She understood the extra time we were spending with him, telling him how to hold the club, how to bend and how to use a inside voice, outside. She got it. He...well, he didn't. He kept staring at us. Giving us nasty looks. Sighing and Humphing like he was beyond put out. He was The Angry Man, as that's what we called him for the rest of the night. His wife was embarrassed and at one point hissed at him, "Would you knock it off? I'll explain later but just please stop." He didn't get it and he didn't stop. She just smiled apologetically.
I smiled back.
We lobbed balls and we missed more that we hit. I may have ducked several times from flying clubs and I may have said, "OUCH, GAWD...Please don't use the club again to get my attention. Clubbing shins is not OK." I may have said that out loud while hobbling around limply.
There is something about giving your child, who has limited gross motor skills, basically a three foot metal arm extension called a golf club. His range of motion/destruction is increased to about a five foot circumference around his entire body. I think the only one who had more adrenaline coursing through their body than me, well, that was The Angry Man.
I may have also said, "DUCCCCK" as a club or ball when flying several times....
And then we came home. The Angry Man was forgotten. And for once, I let someone else put the plugs of dirt/grass/mud back where they belonged. I really would have liked to put them back but in my defense, some of them were lobbed so far out, they went further out than the balls. I was not going to risk getting hit by a ball from The Angry Man. He was just that pissed.
And as we left, Angry Man's wife gave me one last smile and a small wave. In that split second our eyes connected there was understanding, kindness and compassion. I smiled quickly back and went back to the kids.
Revenge is sweet though, I suspect when he got home, his wife was gave him a club or two of her own. By the time we were through, she was even more pissed than her husband. He was so mad at us he didn't see what was right under his nose.
His wife.
Note: I have to tell you a little bit about how things went at school. I was nervous as hell but it was AWESOME! I'll post on Monday (with the PPT that I made into a booklet, so its available) but the big takeaway was the kids finally had a reason for his weirdness, if that makes any sense. It was such a relief to see some of their faces---they understood why he chews his shirts, uses headsets, takes breaks or just flat out walks away. They understood.
Over the past weekend we took the older two out to the driving range to chuck some balls. Alex has been practicing golf in the back yard for a while now and while I don't worry about balls flying and smashing windows, I am getting a little concerned with the gaping maws he's putting in the yard. You have to understand that for every ball he hits, he wiffs about five. That means I have five brand new chunks of grass/dirt/mud to replace for every one he hits. Lets just say I have a shitload of holes in my yard right now.
Anyway, we decided to up the ante and go to the driving range. Now, I'll be the first to tell you we live in a stuck-up, snotty, fake boob, my ring's bigger than your ring kind of neighborhood. I think its funnier than hell and oftentimes I wind up staring at their fake boobies, trying to figure out why the nipples don't line up and how on earth can she walk with yoga pants stuffed that far up her crack?
That's the kind of girl I am.
Anyway, we went to the driving range. It was outside, so we were using our outside voice. Our really loud, Oh My God I'm so excited to lob a few balls in someone else's yard and OH MY GOD, there is a machine that gives you balls?!? HOLY COW, Dad you gotta come and see this voice. That was the kind of voice we were using.
 |
| Oh My God, a ball machine. Yes, you were supposed to read into that. |
And then I looked over to the driving range to see everyone staring at us. Every Single Person. Clearly we'd not gotten the memo to shut the frick up while at the driving range. And do you know what I did?
I smiled back at them, at every single one of them. I didn't explain a thing, I just let it be. I'm to the point that if I say anything, or try to explain away his behaviors, I'm lessening him, I'm devaluing him as a person and I won't do that.
I just smiled at the people and quietly explained to Alex that we have rules at the driving range and one of them was to use an inside voice outside.....I'll save you the dialogue that everyone heard but suffice it so say it made no sense to him.
Honestly, I say can't blame him.
He was so excited, he was having such a good time. He couldn't believe there was such a thing as a golf ball dispensing machine and he was trying to figure out if the mechanisms were similar to a pop machine.
They were.
There was one husband and wife duo who were looking at us like we were devil spawn incarnate. The thing is? She got it right away. She understood the extra time we were spending with him, telling him how to hold the club, how to bend and how to use a inside voice, outside. She got it. He...well, he didn't. He kept staring at us. Giving us nasty looks. Sighing and Humphing like he was beyond put out. He was The Angry Man, as that's what we called him for the rest of the night. His wife was embarrassed and at one point hissed at him, "Would you knock it off? I'll explain later but just please stop." He didn't get it and he didn't stop. She just smiled apologetically.
I smiled back.
 |
| A putting green?!? Awesome! |
There is something about giving your child, who has limited gross motor skills, basically a three foot metal arm extension called a golf club. His range of motion/destruction is increased to about a five foot circumference around his entire body. I think the only one who had more adrenaline coursing through their body than me, well, that was The Angry Man.
I may have also said, "DUCCCCK" as a club or ball when flying several times....
And then we came home. The Angry Man was forgotten. And for once, I let someone else put the plugs of dirt/grass/mud back where they belonged. I really would have liked to put them back but in my defense, some of them were lobbed so far out, they went further out than the balls. I was not going to risk getting hit by a ball from The Angry Man. He was just that pissed.
And as we left, Angry Man's wife gave me one last smile and a small wave. In that split second our eyes connected there was understanding, kindness and compassion. I smiled quickly back and went back to the kids.
Revenge is sweet though, I suspect when he got home, his wife was gave him a club or two of her own. By the time we were through, she was even more pissed than her husband. He was so mad at us he didn't see what was right under his nose.
His wife.
Note: I have to tell you a little bit about how things went at school. I was nervous as hell but it was AWESOME! I'll post on Monday (with the PPT that I made into a booklet, so its available) but the big takeaway was the kids finally had a reason for his weirdness, if that makes any sense. It was such a relief to see some of their faces---they understood why he chews his shirts, uses headsets, takes breaks or just flat out walks away. They understood.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Seriously, take me out back and shoot me, would you?
Yeah, we're sick again. Imagine that. I don't know if my kids lick the floors at school, or french kiss the water fountain, but there it is.
I went to pick up Lizzy at school and the nurse said some kids have been out about four or five days. Do you know what that means in our house?
Challenge Accepted.
Lizzy was out a week. Alex has been out four days, so far. I don't quite know when Gracie started getting sick but I started to pop Tylenol in her mouth when she started to gag, so she was covered.
We're in it to win it, that's all I can say. In it to win it.
Alex has been sitting on a temp of 103 point holy shit that's hot. He doesn't even realize he's sick and when he starts screaming, "My arm hurts, my arm hurts!" that's code for "I'm gonna hurl!"
So far, his arm has hurt three times. All over the car, missing the bucket entirely. All over the driveway, nearly splatting a painter when they had a question that couldn't wait. I guess he didn't hear me screaming, "Now's really not a good time for me!" and "Holy Shit! Could you PLEASE try and AIM for the bucket. Dear God, what did you eat?"
Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing that particular painter again. Remember how I mentioned we were starting on the exterior of the house? Yeah, we've started.
And I don't exactly remember the third time he puked but Alex says it happened, so I believe him.
Somewhere in there, I've gotten sick so I've been toggling back and forth between Ibuprofen and Acetaminophen. I don't even want to think about the war that's raging in my liver and kidneys right now. I just keep thinking it could be worse, much worse, my husband could get sick.
The thing I've noticed with the kids being sick is just this: my seven year old can articulate what hurts but my eight year old cannot. Heck, even my two year old can point to her throat when I ask where it hurts. Alex can't tell me that. He can't say what hurts, where or even that he feels off. He just can't put together all the pieces. He's not there yet.
The only saving grace was that, this time Lizzy went down first so when he got sick, I knew what to look for.
But....but, when he gets sick, it's much worse. He doesn't understand and he regresses. I think he fundamentally understands something is wrong but he just doesn't know what. Then, when your body's not doing what it should be doing, its grounds for some serious confusion. And this is just me, but I think Alex gets sick longer and he tends to get the worst case of whatevers going around.
While Lizzy was laid up with a temp and sore throat, Alex has all of that, plus puking, plus hives and plus major adrenaline. For two whole days he was one big hive. Literally, his whole body was covered in hives and he couldn't stop itching. The only thing that worked was to sit in a cool shower. I won't tell you our water bill or how draining it is to keep an eight year old from scratching himself to a bloody pulp.
And he was bored. He still is bored. Good God All mighty, he's bored. He's bored with NingaGo, How its Made, the computer and horror of all horrors, he's bored with his iTouch and the iPad. And because he's bored, I get to hear about it, every twenty seconds.
I have stopped being mom and have reverted back to being, "Hey waiter, I need more Gatorade."
I've become my child's manservant.
And I'm exhausted. This is how I know having a child with Special Needs is a little more work, a little harder, a little more challenging. I know it. I live it. It doesn't make him any less lovable. Matter of fact, watching him while he's sick, and lose comprehension and understanding of the situation, rips my heart out. But it does bring to light the difference between a child who has Special Needs and one who does not.
And now I have to go. I think Gracie is puking.....again.
Yup, that's what it was...
Note: the baby was up with a 104.oh shit, I'm scared fever, for most of yesterday and last night. So if you're wondering where I've been, there's the answer. I'll try to get to blogs as time arises.....I just didn't want you thinking I went *poof.* All though, right now, that would be kinda nice....
I went to pick up Lizzy at school and the nurse said some kids have been out about four or five days. Do you know what that means in our house?
Challenge Accepted.
Lizzy was out a week. Alex has been out four days, so far. I don't quite know when Gracie started getting sick but I started to pop Tylenol in her mouth when she started to gag, so she was covered.
We're in it to win it, that's all I can say. In it to win it.
Alex has been sitting on a temp of 103 point holy shit that's hot. He doesn't even realize he's sick and when he starts screaming, "My arm hurts, my arm hurts!" that's code for "I'm gonna hurl!"
So far, his arm has hurt three times. All over the car, missing the bucket entirely. All over the driveway, nearly splatting a painter when they had a question that couldn't wait. I guess he didn't hear me screaming, "Now's really not a good time for me!" and "Holy Shit! Could you PLEASE try and AIM for the bucket. Dear God, what did you eat?"
 |
| Yup. Nothing says back to school like airing out the car. |
Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing that particular painter again. Remember how I mentioned we were starting on the exterior of the house? Yeah, we've started.
And I don't exactly remember the third time he puked but Alex says it happened, so I believe him.
Somewhere in there, I've gotten sick so I've been toggling back and forth between Ibuprofen and Acetaminophen. I don't even want to think about the war that's raging in my liver and kidneys right now. I just keep thinking it could be worse, much worse, my husband could get sick.
The thing I've noticed with the kids being sick is just this: my seven year old can articulate what hurts but my eight year old cannot. Heck, even my two year old can point to her throat when I ask where it hurts. Alex can't tell me that. He can't say what hurts, where or even that he feels off. He just can't put together all the pieces. He's not there yet.
The only saving grace was that, this time Lizzy went down first so when he got sick, I knew what to look for.
But....but, when he gets sick, it's much worse. He doesn't understand and he regresses. I think he fundamentally understands something is wrong but he just doesn't know what. Then, when your body's not doing what it should be doing, its grounds for some serious confusion. And this is just me, but I think Alex gets sick longer and he tends to get the worst case of whatevers going around.
While Lizzy was laid up with a temp and sore throat, Alex has all of that, plus puking, plus hives and plus major adrenaline. For two whole days he was one big hive. Literally, his whole body was covered in hives and he couldn't stop itching. The only thing that worked was to sit in a cool shower. I won't tell you our water bill or how draining it is to keep an eight year old from scratching himself to a bloody pulp.
And then, because they put the fear of God in the kids about lice at school, as soon as Alex started itching we had to do lice checks. All The Time. His head was itchy. Itchy heads mean lice and because lice causes itchiness there had to be lice. He was actually disappointed he wasn't growing a whole little nit farm on his head.
I was not.
 |
| Animusic. Dear God, please make it stop. |
I have stopped being mom and have reverted back to being, "Hey waiter, I need more Gatorade."
I've become my child's manservant.
And I'm exhausted. This is how I know having a child with Special Needs is a little more work, a little harder, a little more challenging. I know it. I live it. It doesn't make him any less lovable. Matter of fact, watching him while he's sick, and lose comprehension and understanding of the situation, rips my heart out. But it does bring to light the difference between a child who has Special Needs and one who does not.
And now I have to go. I think Gracie is puking.....again.
Yup, that's what it was...
Note: the baby was up with a 104.oh shit, I'm scared fever, for most of yesterday and last night. So if you're wondering where I've been, there's the answer. I'll try to get to blogs as time arises.....I just didn't want you thinking I went *poof.* All though, right now, that would be kinda nice....
Monday, September 17, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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.
Friday, September 14, 2012
I'll make this easy. A crinoid is a fossil.
I'm always amazed at what comes home from school in my children's pockets, always amazed. The kids have been back in school for a bit and I noticed something shake out of Alex's pocket when I was doing laundry.
I should say, after I sent them through the washer and dryer. When I went to pull out the lint trap, all the things fell down between the walls of the dryer. With a hangar in one hand, and the vacuum attachment thing in the other, I started to fish the things out.
Alex came up and started talking to my ass.
"Mom, hey mom! Have you seen my Crioids? I brought three home from school. I put them in my pants pocket on Friday and now I can't find them."
 |
| Why yes, they are 1/100th the size of a dime. |
"Ok, well hon, mommy's a little busy here. Can you use your eyes and see what I'm doing? Maybe we can talk in a few minutes?"
You know, when you're not talking to my ass.
"Alex hon, these things fell down into the dryer and I'm trying to fish them out. Wait. What did you call those things again?" At this point, I was stuffed all the way in the dryer and it dawned on me that whatever he wanted, that's what was lodged between the walls of the dryer.
"OK mom, talk later....but mom you have to clean the dryer vent every three months so you might as well do that now. Did you know if you don't clean it, you'll have a greater risk of fire in your laundry tubing? You should really clean that thing out while you're here. You're doing a good job cleaning mom."
All I could think of was, awesome social skills telling my ass I was doing a good job cleaning. Sure he was talking directly to my rear end but whatever, he gave me a compliment.
Anyway, something must have clicked in Alex's brain that I was fishing out his crinoids because all of a sudden my ass was getting yelled at.
"Oh My Gosh mom!! You lost my crinoid in the washer! Wait, no!!! You lost it in the dryer...is that what you're getting out of the dryer?!? Dear Lord in Heaven, you can't use the vacuum! Aggghhh!!! NOT THE VACUUM. YOU MUST NOT SUCK UP MY CRINOIDS!!!!"
"Oh My Gosh mom!! You lost my crinoid in the washer! Wait, no!!! You lost it in the dryer...is that what you're getting out of the dryer?!? Dear Lord in Heaven, you can't use the vacuum! Aggghhh!!! NOT THE VACUUM. YOU MUST NOT SUCK UP MY CRINOIDS!!!!"
That was followed up by all sorts of gargling noises from Alex and me cussing after banging my head getting out of the dryer. I finally got him calmed down over the vacuum, letting him know whatever we suck out of the dryer will be splayed out like an anatomy cat so we could collect his crinoids.
The fear of the vacuum in our house is legendary. LEGENDARY. All I can say is vacuum plus Lego equal scarring traumatic life event.
Anyway, we found one crinoid. ONE. He had three. The other two were stuck in the walls of the dryer. And news flash, that's where they're going to stay.
I found out while he's at recess, he likes to dig for fossils. In the midst of all the kids running and playing, he digs. There are a few other children that dig with him but for the most part he digs quietly by himself.
 |
| A severe drought makes for one hell of a crinoid dig. |
And that's exactly why every night after school, for the past two weeks, we've been doing our own fossil dig. We're looking for crinoids. After the school settles down and all the kids go home, we slip back to the back corner of the playground and we dig.
Silently. Peacefully. Next to each other. Digging. Every once in a while we shout, "Hey I got one!" We share a quick smile and we slip right back into quiet.
Our quiet.
Friday, September 7, 2012
When did we get so busy?!?
So the problem I'm having right now is life is getting in the way. You would have thought that with school starting I'd have some free time.
Nope.
We've had some family drop in unexpectedly and a situation at school that I will post on later but not now. Right now I just need to get through today and breathe. While in theory those are small things, in reality they have blown up in our faces. Because of that I've been a bit absent.
And because we're also working on this:
After one hail storm, three appraisers, one mitigator, arbitration, two contractors, three attorneys and eighteen months, we've finally been given the go ahead by a certain nameless insurance company to rip off the roof and start over. Now we're in the process of picking a roof, garage doors, gutters/downspouts and exterior paint and trim.
Want a good way to freak out the kids in your family? Make plans to rip off your roof.
I swear, the only saving grace with the drought in Kansas has been the fact we've not had any rain. That was, until last week, when the remnants of Hurricane Isaac dumped three inches of much needed rainfall into our laundry room.
Right before the Irish Festival Lizzy was dancing in. And right into the light fixture because well, why not?
To say Alex got the shit scared out of him when he turned on the light was an understatement. "Mom!!! MOM!!! There is water coming from the light in the ceiling!! Water and electricity don't mix!! Mom, we're all gonna to die! Aggggghhh...."
He lost his mind and went on and on about the issues we were going to have with the house burning down, electrocution, and other untoward results from water dripping out of the light fixture.....
I just looked at my husband and said, "Fuck. Flip the breaker, get a bucket and lets go." Which is exactly what we did.
Minus our tickets to the Irish Festival.
And minus Alex's headsets.
In the midst of talk of electrocution and death by fire, getting dancing shoes, tackling the toddler and finding snacks and bug spray, I somehow managed to forget them.
Awesome.
So we got there and Lizzy danced her ass off. She was awesome. Gracie ate her weight in Cheeto's and Alex and I played War all the while discussing how a person could die from being electrocuted and all the finer points of an electrical current when it runs through human flesh.
Yup, that's right. We played a good old fashioned game of War in the middle of her dance routine. In our defense, it was almost two hours long and was in 100 degree heat.
We sat through the whole thing playing cards and talking about death by electrocution.
Awesome.
And I couldn't have been prouder. All the noise, crowds, heat and stress and he did great. Sure, he turned into one big hive later that night, but he got through it that afternoon.
So while Lizzy danced, Gracie ate and Alex and I played, I looked around and came to a realization. I may be busy, I may be stressed and I've had absolutely no to time to write but....life is good.
Life is good.
Now, anyone want to help decide on garage door and trim color?
Nope.
We've had some family drop in unexpectedly and a situation at school that I will post on later but not now. Right now I just need to get through today and breathe. While in theory those are small things, in reality they have blown up in our faces. Because of that I've been a bit absent.
And because we're also working on this:
After one hail storm, three appraisers, one mitigator, arbitration, two contractors, three attorneys and eighteen months, we've finally been given the go ahead by a certain nameless insurance company to rip off the roof and start over. Now we're in the process of picking a roof, garage doors, gutters/downspouts and exterior paint and trim.
Want a good way to freak out the kids in your family? Make plans to rip off your roof.
I swear, the only saving grace with the drought in Kansas has been the fact we've not had any rain. That was, until last week, when the remnants of Hurricane Isaac dumped three inches of much needed rainfall into our laundry room.
Right before the Irish Festival Lizzy was dancing in. And right into the light fixture because well, why not?
To say Alex got the shit scared out of him when he turned on the light was an understatement. "Mom!!! MOM!!! There is water coming from the light in the ceiling!! Water and electricity don't mix!! Mom, we're all gonna to die! Aggggghhh...."
He lost his mind and went on and on about the issues we were going to have with the house burning down, electrocution, and other untoward results from water dripping out of the light fixture.....
I just looked at my husband and said, "Fuck. Flip the breaker, get a bucket and lets go." Which is exactly what we did.
Minus our tickets to the Irish Festival.
And minus Alex's headsets.
In the midst of talk of electrocution and death by fire, getting dancing shoes, tackling the toddler and finding snacks and bug spray, I somehow managed to forget them.
Awesome.
 |
| Day one. I'd like to think of the Irish Fest as more of an endurance event.... |
So we got there and Lizzy danced her ass off. She was awesome. Gracie ate her weight in Cheeto's and Alex and I played War all the while discussing how a person could die from being electrocuted and all the finer points of an electrical current when it runs through human flesh.
 |
| Center Stage baby. |
 |
| My girl was center stage. And no, none of these girls are my baby. |
Yup, that's right. We played a good old fashioned game of War in the middle of her dance routine. In our defense, it was almost two hours long and was in 100 degree heat.
We sat through the whole thing playing cards and talking about death by electrocution.
Awesome.
And I couldn't have been prouder. All the noise, crowds, heat and stress and he did great. Sure, he turned into one big hive later that night, but he got through it that afternoon.
 |
| Day two. |
So while Lizzy danced, Gracie ate and Alex and I played, I looked around and came to a realization. I may be busy, I may be stressed and I've had absolutely no to time to write but....life is good.
Life is good.
Now, anyone want to help decide on garage door and trim color?
Friday, August 31, 2012
The big bang just blew up in my face.
Right now I have horrible curses words going through my mind. Horrible, horrible curse words.
Someone told me ages ago, "You have to watch The Big Bang Theory, Alex reminds me soooo much of Sheldon Cooper." I don't remember who said it and I don't remember giving it too much thought, so I let it drift out of my memory.
If I remember who you are, you should probably start running. Now. When I catch up, I'm going to kill you.
I have this thing where I don't like watching shows having to do with Autism. See, I live it. The few minutes I do get to be by myself, I want to stare blankly at the TV and not think about anything. The last thing I want to do, is be reminded of my own life.
But then there was a Big Bang Theory marathon the other day so I DVR'ed the episodes. That same night we watched one episode and it seemed harmless, funny even.
Sheldon had a secret knock his friends had to do on his door. His friends didn't do the knock correctly and there was a prolonged discussion on how doing the knock incorrectly precluded entry. Alex was transfixed. Mesmerized. He was giggling and snorting so loud that at one point I thought he was going to throw up.
He looked over at me and said, "Mom, there are grownups like me." Right then and there a new love was born. Scoot over How its Made, you've been replaced.
And I have to tell you, I had mixed feelings about him watching the show. I didn't want him seeing a studio production of what he deemed real life. We had a discussion about actors and acting to which I received a, "Duh mom," like I was the idiot in the room.
Then then next morning.
Alex was up bright and early, and without missing a beat, he ran downstairs and turned on his brand new love, The Big Bang Theory.
I counted my lucks stars and rolled over. It was about six-something in the morning.
See, we took the youngest out of her crib the day before and she started sleeping in a toddler bed. The thing is, she never slept in her bed. She latched on to the idea she was a free agent...
To say we had a wondering gnome was an understatement. She had the new found freedom of a prison inmate and she's been wandering around the house at all hours of the night. Do you know how creepy it is to wake up to a two year old, inches from your face, several times a night going, "Mine mommy, mine mommy???" Creepy, totally creepy.
So yeah, when Alex got up at 6:00AM, I rolled over.
Big mistake. Big, Big, BIG Mistake.
I came downstairs a little while later and was met with a barrage of questions, "What is coitus, mom? Why would someone engage in coitus? Is coitus something grownups do? Do you like coitus, mom?"
"Errrr, what? What were you asking?" Inside I was shocked wide awake. It was like he just took a tazer to my brain, turned it on and fired it directly into my grey matter. Alarm bells were going off, "Danger, danger. Red Alert. Red Alert." In my mind I was going, "Oh Gwad Fuck. Did my kid just say coitus?!? OMG, he totally did. Who told me about this show again?!? I'm gonna kill them..."
On that episode they must have said sex, sexual intercourse and coitus a million times. I think they were trying to find Sheldon a date so his friends made an online profile for him.
There implications were unending.
All day I heard various questions, all sexually related, all about coitus.
This is hell people, this is hell. My kids are asking about sex. All day long, "Why would a person have coitus? Is coitus the same as sex? Why does it have two names? It makes no sense. Is coitus Latin for sex?"
All frigging day.
And people wonder why I don't watch TV about Autism.
Curse you Sheldon Cooper. Curse you.
Someone told me ages ago, "You have to watch The Big Bang Theory, Alex reminds me soooo much of Sheldon Cooper." I don't remember who said it and I don't remember giving it too much thought, so I let it drift out of my memory.
If I remember who you are, you should probably start running. Now. When I catch up, I'm going to kill you.
I have this thing where I don't like watching shows having to do with Autism. See, I live it. The few minutes I do get to be by myself, I want to stare blankly at the TV and not think about anything. The last thing I want to do, is be reminded of my own life.
But then there was a Big Bang Theory marathon the other day so I DVR'ed the episodes. That same night we watched one episode and it seemed harmless, funny even.
Sheldon had a secret knock his friends had to do on his door. His friends didn't do the knock correctly and there was a prolonged discussion on how doing the knock incorrectly precluded entry. Alex was transfixed. Mesmerized. He was giggling and snorting so loud that at one point I thought he was going to throw up.
He looked over at me and said, "Mom, there are grownups like me." Right then and there a new love was born. Scoot over How its Made, you've been replaced.
 |
| The Big Bang Theory and NinjaGo, this is what my life has come down to..... |
And I have to tell you, I had mixed feelings about him watching the show. I didn't want him seeing a studio production of what he deemed real life. We had a discussion about actors and acting to which I received a, "Duh mom," like I was the idiot in the room.
Then then next morning.
Alex was up bright and early, and without missing a beat, he ran downstairs and turned on his brand new love, The Big Bang Theory.
I counted my lucks stars and rolled over. It was about six-something in the morning.
See, we took the youngest out of her crib the day before and she started sleeping in a toddler bed. The thing is, she never slept in her bed. She latched on to the idea she was a free agent...
To say we had a wondering gnome was an understatement. She had the new found freedom of a prison inmate and she's been wandering around the house at all hours of the night. Do you know how creepy it is to wake up to a two year old, inches from your face, several times a night going, "Mine mommy, mine mommy???" Creepy, totally creepy.
So yeah, when Alex got up at 6:00AM, I rolled over.
Big mistake. Big, Big, BIG Mistake.
I came downstairs a little while later and was met with a barrage of questions, "What is coitus, mom? Why would someone engage in coitus? Is coitus something grownups do? Do you like coitus, mom?"
"Errrr, what? What were you asking?" Inside I was shocked wide awake. It was like he just took a tazer to my brain, turned it on and fired it directly into my grey matter. Alarm bells were going off, "Danger, danger. Red Alert. Red Alert." In my mind I was going, "Oh Gwad Fuck. Did my kid just say coitus?!? OMG, he totally did. Who told me about this show again?!? I'm gonna kill them..."
On that episode they must have said sex, sexual intercourse and coitus a million times. I think they were trying to find Sheldon a date so his friends made an online profile for him.
There implications were unending.
All day I heard various questions, all sexually related, all about coitus.
This is hell people, this is hell. My kids are asking about sex. All day long, "Why would a person have coitus? Is coitus the same as sex? Why does it have two names? It makes no sense. Is coitus Latin for sex?"
All frigging day.
And people wonder why I don't watch TV about Autism.
Curse you Sheldon Cooper. Curse you.
Monday, August 20, 2012
The wedding that was.....
So we made it back from the wedding up in North Dakota relatively unscathed. And by that I mean we're all alive. We made it back home and I was never so glad to be back in our house. Not to say we didn't have fun, we did. There is just a unique sort of hell that goes along with being trapped in your own car upwards of eleven hours, two times, that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin.
Things that may, or may not, have happened:
Things that may, or may not, have happened:
- We had a flat tire smack in the middle of Iowa. I take that back, I really don't know where we were. All I know is, we had to drive back to get to a Toyota dealership to replace our Dunlop no-flat tire. The irony didn't get past me on that one.
 |
| "MOM! They have rules at the rest area!" |
- We may have trashed the waiting room of a certain Toyota Dealership. I tried to clean up as best as I could but they had a popcorn machine. It was a no-win situation.
- The kids may have felt-up all the taxidermy bears, deer, turkey and ducks at my friends house. Her husband may have started a new nervous twitch when he saw Lizzy stroking a fur backwards and named a duck Sparkle.
- I may have had a drink too many after we lost the baby at the rehearsal party and it may have happened about the same time Alex was puking off the side of the pool and it may have happened the exact same time Lizzy got her toe stuck in the base of a table.
- I may, or may not, have said, "Lizzy stay here while I go find your sister. Wait, you can't move, your toe's stuck. Well, small blessings."
- Lizzy may or may not have screamed so loud you could hear her in Canada.
- When we found the baby she was out in front, with the smokers, trying to borrow a lighter. Alex may, or may not have, proceeded to question them about their choice to smoke and he may, or may not have, pulled up an image of a "smokers lung" from his i -Touch...
- Lizzy may have sat through part of the wedding sobbing because her, "vagina hurt." Turns out it was not her vagina, it was her underpants crimping her style.
 |
| These make me giggle every time we pass one and if you don't get it, I'm not telling |
- Alex may have read off every single exit on the map and we may have stopped at every rest area so he could get a new map and not miss a thing. I may have stopped listening somewhere outside of Kansas City.
- We may have had approximately fourteen fast food meals in a little under four days. The teenagers at Long John Silver's may have wanted to kill our kids for ringing their bell over 3,000 times.
- And we may, or may not, have had Juano's Mexican food over three times while in Fargo because it's Alex's favorite. I may, or may not have, spent more time than I would care to admit on the toilet.
- We may, or may not, have had a great time seeing old friends and thinking about old times.
 |
| Kids saying goodbye. |
Don't get me wrong, we had a blast. The kids had fun, we were exhausted and I swear I think I aged several years when the baby went missing. So that was our weekend that was, up in North Dakota.
While it's good to be home, I miss my old friends.
While it's good to be home, I miss my old friends.
Monday, August 6, 2012
We're being squeezed.
When Alex was younger I lived in fear that he wouldn't talk. I think it was that way with all my kids, I think everyone worries to a certain degree about this. Every last one of my kids started talking late and when they did start to talk? They never stopped. There was a steady stream of conversation, chatter in the house.
Both the girls have an understanding of when you can talk and when you can't. Alex has not acquired this small bit of information.
Consequently, when he did start talking, he didn't stop. When something was on his mind he'd blurt it out, whether it be at dinner, or smack in the middle of going to the bathroom. I've been listening to this boy talk at me for eight years.
And the thing is, he doesn't let up. He doesn't stop talking. Ever.
Do you know how draining it is to have an eight year old question everything you do? Or give you a running dialogue on how you could be doing it better? Correcting you every time you make a mistake?
From taking the chicken out of the freezer, to how I use the computer, to how often he thinks he should take a shower, there is a conversation. There is a negotiation, a lesson, or a correction, not for him---for me.
Every day. All day. The conversation does not stop.
And the thing is, it's my job to teach him the difference between talking to someone versus talking at someone. It's been a hard lesson to pass on---for both of us.
I've come to deal with this constant stream of conversation headed in my direction in several ways, depending on how much I can take, versus how willing I am to debate the issue at hand.
At first I was so damn happy he was talking, I talked back and engaged him. He loved it. I loved it. But as he got older, the demands became something I couldn't handle. I simply could not stand around and talk about how a lake's ecology progresses through time or how a battery functions or how the transformer on the telephone pole works.
I tried redirecting him to another project but that invariable let to more questions. Even the volcano project we did last week ended up with us in front of the computer Googling the earth's mantle and the ring of fire.
And now he's no longer is just interested in acquiring information. He's interested in when I'm going to be done making dinner and he'll set time limits on what I do. He's slowly trying to work our schedules around what he wants to do. What he wants to do and when he wants it.
I couldn't figure out why we've had an uptick in behavior.
And then it dawned on me. We moved into August. He starts school in two weeks. He's nervous, anxious, fearful. He wants to go back to school but he's looking down that great big gaping maw called uncertainty.
I'm looking down it too. For as busy as this summer has been, I've liked to see my kids stress free, wrangling with each other, and happy.
So for right now I've figured out what he needs and I'll be on the receiving end of our conversations. I'm OK with that.
Both the girls have an understanding of when you can talk and when you can't. Alex has not acquired this small bit of information.
Consequently, when he did start talking, he didn't stop. When something was on his mind he'd blurt it out, whether it be at dinner, or smack in the middle of going to the bathroom. I've been listening to this boy talk at me for eight years.
And the thing is, he doesn't let up. He doesn't stop talking. Ever.
Do you know how draining it is to have an eight year old question everything you do? Or give you a running dialogue on how you could be doing it better? Correcting you every time you make a mistake?
From taking the chicken out of the freezer, to how I use the computer, to how often he thinks he should take a shower, there is a conversation. There is a negotiation, a lesson, or a correction, not for him---for me.
Every day. All day. The conversation does not stop.
And the thing is, it's my job to teach him the difference between talking to someone versus talking at someone. It's been a hard lesson to pass on---for both of us.
I've come to deal with this constant stream of conversation headed in my direction in several ways, depending on how much I can take, versus how willing I am to debate the issue at hand.
At first I was so damn happy he was talking, I talked back and engaged him. He loved it. I loved it. But as he got older, the demands became something I couldn't handle. I simply could not stand around and talk about how a lake's ecology progresses through time or how a battery functions or how the transformer on the telephone pole works.
I tried redirecting him to another project but that invariable let to more questions. Even the volcano project we did last week ended up with us in front of the computer Googling the earth's mantle and the ring of fire.
 |
| Our volcano has jewels and grape sticks. That's how we roll. |
And now he's no longer is just interested in acquiring information. He's interested in when I'm going to be done making dinner and he'll set time limits on what I do. He's slowly trying to work our schedules around what he wants to do. What he wants to do and when he wants it.
I couldn't figure out why we've had an uptick in behavior.
And then it dawned on me. We moved into August. He starts school in two weeks. He's nervous, anxious, fearful. He wants to go back to school but he's looking down that great big gaping maw called uncertainty.
I'm looking down it too. For as busy as this summer has been, I've liked to see my kids stress free, wrangling with each other, and happy.
So for right now I've figured out what he needs and I'll be on the receiving end of our conversations. I'm OK with that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)