Look who came back from the dead.

I must be feeling better because while I was out getting more pretzels for Alex, some dude cut me off in traffic and I immediately thought, "You stupid son-of-a-bitch."  At that moment I knew I'd come back from the dead.  Every single one of us have been sick in this house, probably with two or three different things, going on about three weeks now.

Alex was still not better after a week so we went to his doctor to check him out.  Autism and Asthma make a horrible combination and for a kid who can't tell me when he's going to puke, I hold out very little hope he can tell me if its hard to breathe.

Screw you people for jamming a q-tip down my throat.  

Turns out, we all have strep.  That would explain why my throat has been on FIRE, why I've been feverish and why I've been partly delusional, aside from my normal delusions of grandeur.

It's amazing what antibiotics can do.  Sure they're ripping through my gut like a tsunami but by God, I can breathe and for the first time in a solid week I can think clearly.  That right there, is better living through chemistry.  

Now I have to pick up the remnants of my house and get our lives back together.

I think I have:

• 15 loads of laundry to do.
• 8 missed therapies.
• 2 missed groups.
• 1 missed garden club for Alex.
• 1 possible dead crab.
• 2 dentist appointments, completely overlooked.
• 6 toilets to scrub.

And I may have:

• OD'ed three times on NyQuil by slugging it like a shot, screwing that little cup/dispenser thing on top.  
• Found three abdominals I never knew I had, while coughing/puking at 10:00 PM and 2:00 AM, respectively. 
• Wished I was dead 42 times. 
• Cussed out about 8 dragons in DragonVale that have lead to major malfunctions in this house.  I'm looking at you, Equinox Dragon.  
• And 1 sick husband. 

And don't worry, all the crabs are alive (damn-it) and turns out when you're sick you do make bad decisions so the trim on the house needs to be repainted.  You should have heard that foul language.

Aside from all of that, it's good to be back.

Birthdays and benders...

My daughter had her birthday on Friday.  I mention that because it went pear shaped before she even got out of bed.  Alex beat her to it.  That was problem number one.

Problem number two was that it was not his birthday.  

Before Lizzy even got out of bed, I was hearing, "I hate streamers!  When it's my birthday I don't want any streamers!" He was running through the house tearing down pink and white streamers my mom had stayed up late the night before to put up.  She put up all the decorations at night so when Lizzy woke up, she'd be met with garland and streamers and balloons.

Didn't happen.

Alex was taking them down faster than anything.  Ripping them off the fireplace, trying to pop balloons, smash things, rip streamers and tear the house apart.

I was furious.

"Stop it, stop that right now!  Stop pulling those things down right now!"

"NO, I hate streamers.  When it's my birthday I DON'T WANT ANY STREAMERS!"  He was still running around ripping things down.  We had several more negotiations which were to no avail.  He was not listening, not comprehending.

The abbreviated version...

"Go to your room right now.  NOW!"  Stomping up each and every step, I drug him up.  Furious.  He was furious, I was furious, he was still mumbling under his breath, "I hate streamers.  Hate them.  It's not fair.  I don't like streamers.  I hate you."

By that time, Lizzy was up.  Decorations were down and Alex was stomping around upstairs.

And then nothing was going to go right for him.  He didn't like his socks.  His pants itched.  His food tasted funny.  His fingers felt weird.  And then his shoes.  Oh my fucking God, his shoes.  He couldn't find the right pair and he couldn't possible wear a different pair of the exact same kind of shoe.  Oh no.  He had to have that exact pair, the pair we couldn't find.  Never mind we have replicas of the shoes so this doesn't happen but ohhhh noooo, not today.  Today, this was the hill he was going to die on.

I tired to help him, smacked my elbow on the cabinet so hard I saw stars.  I was furious.  I lashed out and yelled at him, "Now what?  WHAT?  Am I going to have to find your shoes every day?  Huh???  What happens when you're twenty?  What happens then, am I going to have to find your shoes then?  Huh???  Get to the car right now.  NOW.  I've had it."

I was seething.  Furious.  All morning he'd been pushing buttons and I'd had it.  That was the hill I died on.

This was not how Lizzy's birthday was supposed to go.

And then it hit me.  Hit me like a thousand bricks.  This is the way it's going to be with us.  This is how it is.  Autism's in our lives and it's in every part of it, like a nebulous vine, its worked its way into every crack and crevice of our lives.  Every part.  It's just not Alex who has Autism.  It's our whole family.  It affects each and every one of us and it affects us all differently.

And for some reason that bothered me.  Bothered me to the core.  Bothered me that my daughter didn't have a birthday without being affected.  Bothered me that for twenty God-damned minutes in the morning I was trying to redo something it took him less than a few seconds to undo.  Bothered my that he was so bothered.  And most of all?   I was bothered that as a mom, I snapped.

You guys know me, you know I try to put a positive spin on things and for the most part I meet our struggles head on with a good laugh.  I have to.  It's the only way I know to survive.  But.

This has me in a place I don't want to be.  Mad that I lost my shit and mad that I lost it in front of the kids.  Mad that a day I wanted perfect for my little girl, went up in smoke before she was even out of her pajamas.

This is the part of Autism that most people don't talk about, the part where we struggle, where we cry, get angry or we just need a break.  Where, as a parent, I can say it never ends.  I wouldn't be telling the truth if I only shared the good.  Well, this is it, this is the side that makes me want to scream for the hills and scream a slew of cuss words so loud they could hear me in hell and be afraid.

I know he's struggling and I know he's upset.  I know this is the start of school and we're all maxed-out.  I know that, I get it.  But there are days where it all gets to be too much and I don't like it.

This was one of those days.

I only wanted one day.  One damn day.


Note: I'm still in a funk and I'm working my way out of it.  Please know, I love my son, I do.  There are times when I don't love everything that comes with Autism, not to admit that would be a lie.  I'm not trying to devalue anyone who is one the Spectrum or who has Autism, I'm simply saying that there are days when this is hard, really really hard.  

Like you couldn't see this coming...

I went back to the pool.  I took all three kids back to the pool to see what would happen.  I had to get that image of my daughter floating lifeless on the bottom out of my head.  I'll tell you now, it didn't remove the image, but it did bring my comfort level back at taking all three of them to the pool by myself.

Go here if you want to get caught up.  

At some point in our marriage, my husband bought each of the kids their own kid size broom.  You know, so they could help me clean.  Most of you know, I have a few issues about keeping the house clean and I can't stand having dirty floors.  Consequently, I'm always sweeping and mopping.

Now I'll let it be known right now, I'm not missing out on the kids formative years.  It's the only thing I know to do to de-stress while I have the kids home with me twenty-four/seven.  Since I've been a bit stressed with all our fun going on this summer, you could eat off my floors right now.  

Anyway, I told the kids they aren't allowed to have their swords in the house.  They can practice in the garage or on the porch, but I draw the limit at having swords in the house.  Last time they had camp, they had nunchucks and it was a colossal mess.  They brought them in and were nunchucking everything in sight.  I think the only thing that saved us was the fact our gross motor skills suck so bad.  You should have seen how clean my floors were then.

The brooms have left the building.  

Anyway, at some point, all three brooms made it into the house and Alex and Lizzy were practicing forms in the family room---with the brooms.  I let them practice because it was the first time that whole day they were actually quiet and to be honest?  It's was too damn hot outside.

Out of nowhere I hear a THWACK then, "Ouch!"  Immediately followed up by another THWACK then, "Ouch!"

I heard all sorts of commotion, a little rolling around of the floor and I think I even heard Lizzy saying my favorite expression, "God Bless America!"

Then I got bombarded with complaints from Alex, "Mom, that's not fair!  She didn't do the forms at all!  Gracie just came in and hit us on our heads.  That's so not fair!"  To which I turned it into a bit of a life lesson and said, "Well honey, sometimes life isn't fair.  Do you think when you get into a fight people are going to follow the forms?"

Alex looked at me, looked back at the two year old, his wheels turning.   Without missing a beat he goes, "Like this?"  And he thunks the baby on the head with his broom.

And do you know what I thought, smack in the middle of another cat fight???  I thought, "Yay!  He's generalizing!"

Shortly after that, all three of the brooms made it back outside and in the garage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ouch!  Mom, she hit me!"

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

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

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

Mind-numbing.

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

"Is there blood?"

"Are you dying?"

"Are you even close to dying?"

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

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

Cool down on Monday!!!

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

And sometimes I think surviving is enough.

Who wants a butt-rocket?

I can't wait for February to end.  There I said it.  I don't care if our TOR:CON index shoots up to like a five just because we live in Kansas.  I'll take that risk.  There's something about the promise of warmer weather with the coming of March.


















 

In case anyone's keeping count, that sleeping baby down there is winning.  Six to zero.  It wouldn't be so bad if she would only take her Tylenol by mouth.  But ohhhh no, she doesn't like the taste.  I've tried every flavor, every brand and even the chewable tablets.  Even tried hiding it in her cheese.

All of it comes back at me.

She had the same poor review of Ibuprofen.  All makes, all brands.

That's why I get the joy of shoving a suppository up her ass every four to six hours.  She thinks even less highly of that and pukes, I swear, to spite me.  

Let me tell you Gracie, I like shoving my finger up your ass as much as you like it there kid.

On the upside, it's making discipline a hell of a lot easier in this house.  All I have to do is pull out a suppository, show it to her and say, "Do you want this?  Do you want a butt-rocket up your butt??  No, I didn't think so."

Lord, that child will do whatever I ask now.

Only with both hands holding her bottom pretty tightly.

Tamiflu, get yours while its hot.

This will be my last post on The Sick.  Lizzy shared the disease with Gracie and the very next day my rump was back at the Pediatrician's office.  Apparently you get bumped all the way to the front of the cue really fast when you call and tell them the baby has a sustained temp over 103 and she's really sleepy.  Lord, they just tell you to come on in, STAT.


Yeah, it did cross my mind that that little nugget would have been helpful to know yesterday when we were living my worst nightmare.


Anyway, we dropped everything and marched in there, in full glory.  That consisted of my unshowered, unshaved, undeordized and puked on, pajamaed ass carrying a Rubbermaid.  Lizzy was in Disney princess pajamas and the baby was delirious in only a diaper.

Gracie-3, Mom-0.

I don't know if I mentioned this but where we live, in South Johnson County, it's the most stuck-up, prudish, money-centered, my husband makes more than your husband, place I've ever lived.


You guys know that's just not me.


I tell you that, to tell you this: Those bitches parted like the Red Sea when we walked in that doctor's office.  Our dirty contaminated asses were sniffed out as soon as we hit the door handle and my God, the look of horror on those women's faces were priceless.  A few even got up and moved out of our way so they didn't get a sent of our disease.  One dove in her purse for hand sanitizer and damn near bathed her kids in it.  


Call me Moses.  


After all that, we were seen and both girls tested positive for the flu.  My first comment was, "WTF?  We had flu shots and wait, why was Lizzy not tested yesterday when we were here?"


Crickets.


Suffice it to say I've bleached the hell out of the house and have never really put the Clorox down.  I knew it was all over when I saw Gracie eating lunch out of the same bowl as Lizzy and later there was a direct sneeze in her face.  For the curious, direct inoculation like that has about a twenty hour incubation period.  


At that point, all the bleach in the world wasn't going to help my cause.

Let's just say Tamiful is my new BFF, we practically have a "X" on our door and I'll not put the bleach down till we're all over The Sick in this house.  


I don't care if my hands have been reduced to bloody stumps.  I don't want to see Alex sick with this.  And the world will stop spinning on its axis if He Who shall Not Be Named got it.  I cannot let that happen.  For my sanity, it cannot happen.  


I'll dip them both in bleach nightly if I have to because they have to stay healthy.  


Now can someone be a good neighbor and get me some more bleach?  My stash is running low.  


I know beggars can't be choosers but I really like the Fresh Meadow scent Clorox has on the market right now.  

Wordless Wednesday

I have no idea how it got there.

I have no desire to learn.

And I have even less of a desire to pull it out.

WTF kids, really???

I have one fleeting thought and its this: I'm sooo glad I saw it before I peed.

Yeah, I have deep thoughts.

Now somebody go get me the kitchen tongs.

And don't tell your father.

Winter Break in Cookies...

I have a bunch of nothing today.  Instead, I give you this.  

These are all the cookies I made and then ate for the cause of that Fat Bastard called Santa.  

I ate every single one of them including those birds, chickens or whatever they are.    

No, I do not have any self control.  I also ate some for that other douche, the New Year's Baby.

I'll be back on Friday with something more substantial.  I think.  Who knows, I may be making more cookies and growing my ass.

This is one hell of a bender.

I've come back from the dead.

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

And then almost passed out from the exertion.

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

I can tell you:

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

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

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


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


Lizbethcole29@yahoo.com

Go on and touch her already. Just a little touch.

Do you ever just get to the point where you go, "Eh, Christ, I'm sick of this and I want to go home."  Only you are home and there really is no other place for you to go? Anybody?  Anybody??

Or is it just me?  If its just me, please be generous and lie and make stuff up in the comments.  Tell me about your pet pony, I don't care.  

So I've gone on and on about how blissful our summer has been and like a vise grip getting tighter and tighter I can see my happy little boy slipping away from me.  Out of my grasp.

Our window is closing in on us.

And I'm scared.

I can see Alex's sphincter tighten as we get closer to next week and I'm dying a thousand deaths for him.

We had our last swim lesson and he was so sad and mad and I don't know what that he went up and slugged his instructor.  Normally he loves this girl.  Not today.  He didn't know how to tell her he was sad and mad and I don't know what and the next thing I knew he hauled off and just slugged her.

Even with his back turned
I know.  

Everything has been so rough on him in the past few days.  He's been trying desperately to hold it together and he just fell apart today.  And of all things it was when we ran out of cookies at the pool.  Cookies.

And he melted.

"Mom, Lizzy ate all the cookies and I'm hungry."  He's already started bawling, his chins quivering, snot running down his nose, over his lips and down his chin.  Rivers of tears streaming down each cheek.

Like a switch that's been turned on, I can see what's coming.

"I'm so hungry, Mom.  I want to go home."  He's pacing in circles.  Flapping.

"No babe, we're not going home.  Lizzy's not done with her lesson.  We have to stay."

"I WANT TO GO HOME!  I WANT TO GO HOME NOW!  NOW! NOW! NOW!  TAKE ME HOME NOW!"

He's going in circles, faster.  He's still sobbing.  And flapping.  He gets to our stuff and starts throwing the empty cookie bag and launched it across the pool deck.  Moved on to tossing the water bottle and all the goggles in the pool and got part way through our bag, chucking things out before I could get to him.  And I was all of one chair down.

Lizzy, not a care in the world. 

What he lacks in coping skills he makes up for in speed.        

"No.  No, hon.  We're not going home.  We have to wait."

"I WANT TO GO HOME.  NOW!  I WANT TO GO HOME!"

He's moved on to sobbing hysterically, his whole body wracked with waves of angst.  "I WANT TO GO HOME."  I'm trying to hold on to him.  He's pushing me away.

He's moved on just that quickly from throwing things to curling up on himself, on the pool chair.

It always amazes me the fury that can be unleashed in a split second.  And the next, yet just as startling, is the child curled up so tightly in a ball, so vulnerable.  Scared.

"I know.  I know.  I know.  I'm sad too."  I say sitting next to him, trying not to get too close for fear of setting him off again.  "It stinks that Tracy has to go away for college and this is your last lesson.  I know that.  It makes my body sad too.  And I'm a little mad and a scared too.  Ya wana go over and tell Tracy you'll miss her?  You don't have to say anything you can just go over and touch her.  Just a touch.  She'll know what you're saying."

"NO.  I WANT TO GO HOME."  He's not moved an inch, just talking to me through the slats of the pool chair.

"I know, I know. But listen to me.  Did you know if you use your words, she'll understand your feelings?  She will.  Trust me.  I bet she's sad too."

He sat all though his sister's lesson curled up in the fetal position.  Was a moody as a feral cat coming back home.  Refused to talk to Tracy the rest of her time with us.

Right as she was walking out the door he went up to her.  Touched her on her hand and walked away.

He's been up in his room on his computer ever since listening to his music and making mazes.

There are so many things that are upsetting to me about what happened.  I know this scenario will replay itself all day, just with a different trigger.  He was unable to use words but for him to make that move, that touch, gives me pause.

It gives me hope.

Crazy is as Crazy does.

I lied.  I'm going to dig deep and go back and talk about my vacation for this post.  There was one last thing that happened on Sanibel that I thought only Flannery and Grace would truly appreciate.  Then I'll be all done with this Sanibel stuff.

Promise.

Remember how I said I like to go shelling?  Well I do.  I go out on my own and stake out the best spots on the Island.  I bring my net, water shoes, sunscreen, power bar and some water.  I take my phone and at my husband's insistence, it's double or triple bagged in Ziplocs so it won't get wet or sandy.  I chuck it all into a small string backpack and I'm off.

Remember how I met the awesome sheller from one of my last posts?  Well, we did a lot of shelling together and she always had her husband with her.  I even mentioned that I thought he had her micro-chipped as he always seemed to know exactly where she was.  Anyway, she was telling me the reason he's with her is that she was out here one time and some guy came out buck naked and streaked from the shrubs to the ocean and back.

That freaked my shit since there weren't any houses around.

And between you, me and the walls, I was a little miffed that no one came streaking out from the undergrowth when I was around.  I mean really, he couldn't just give me a courtesy run?

So there I was, on my own, staking out shells.  I noticed this guy off in the distance and I didn't think anything of it.  I stuck my head down, found some more shells and looked up.

He was coming up to me and talking.

So much for a peaceful day at the beach.

He starts to say all this stuff and I'm stuck between this guy and the ocean.  I can't hear a damn thing he's saying with the surf smashing me around.  Against my better judgement I get out of the water and am like, "Hi!"  Trying to play off that I'm not all alone.

Did you ever meet someone and you just didn't feel right about them?  Like your gut was telling you something (like RUN) but you had to use your brain and figure it out?  The whole time you just didn't feel right.  This was one of those times.

"Hey how are ya?  Good, yeah?  Nice day to be out.  I'm in from Jupiter for the day and thought I'd see what I could find.  Everyone says Sanibel's great for shells but I'm not seeing much.  How bout you?  You finding anything?"

Ummm, yeah....Jupiter you say.  That sounds about right.  Christ.  No need to check, my freak magnet's on.

"Yeah, I'm good.  Just out for some shells.  Found a few things" I say keeping my head low, trying to ignore the shell bag in my hand.  Trying not to appear interested.  At all.

"Yeah, what'd ya find?"  He continues, looking right at my bag,  "Cool, is that a sand-dollar?  That sure is!  You're really lucky to have found one of those.  They're hard to find."

"Sure is." I say as I reluctantly acknowledge my shell bag and the sand-dollar within.  I start trying to head back to the beach with more people, starting to wonder how I can inconspicusly get my phone un-triple-Ziploced without being too obvious.  

"It's really nice to see people like yourself getting out and exploring things.  Did you know there is a lagoon right up there?" he says nudging his shoulder, pointing right up and over the bluff.  "Did you want to go and see it?  I hear it's pretty neat.  Come on, I'll take you, it's right up there."

This is where I lost my shit.  Answered the question if he thought I was alone.  This freak wanted to go explore a lagoon and slice me up six ways to China.  In that time I'd be lucky to unZiplock one bag from my phone.  One bag.  I'm screwed.  And it's so frigging hot, I'd decompose in like, twenty minutes.  I know this, I've watched all the CSI's.  Some bird's going to swoop down and eat my eyeball.   I should never have watched all those CSI's.  Damn you Anthony Zuiker.  Maybe I can start leaving PowerBar crumbs.  Seagulls don't eat PowerBar's do they?  Crap, they eat anything, who am I kidding?  I just fed them half my nail polish from my toes as a joke and they ate it.  Great, now PITA's going to be up my ass-hole if I live.  And I can't even dial my phone since its bubble wrapped six ways to China to protect it from the elements.  Accckkk.  WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME???  Why am I fascinated with China, six different ways when I am about to die?  That's totally weirding me out.  That $300 piece of shit phone is going to be the only thing left of me, all wrapped up nice and neat.  Maybe the phones made in China?  Acccckkkk.  Thank you Ziploc and your I-can't-open-you-in-an-emergency-but-my-meat-won't-get-freezer-burn-but-it-won't-matter-when-I'm-dead-bags.  Maybe you can market that after I'm good and gone.  


I hate you I-phone.  I hate you Ziploc.


Crazy man from Jupiter is still NOT SHUTTING UP about the damn lagoon.  Now what??  I promised Alex I'd make home-made pizza for dinner.  Who's going to make my kid dinner if I don't get back?    


"I think I'm going to have to get going" I say.  "I bet it's nice but I have to be heading back."

This freak followed me all the way back to Blind Pass where some guy named Lou started talking to me and telling me how pretty I was.

See Spanx lady in the background???

I CAN NOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP.

I am not pretty.

See look.  Skinny, yes.  Pretty no.

Of course I've not shown you a picture of my face but rather my ass but hey, in my defense, my ass is prettier than my face.

And for the record, I felt like I was in some fucked up temporal vortex.  I had to actually look around and see if this new guy was really talking to me.

Yup.  Yup, he was.

Truth be told, I was never so happy to see Lou in my entire life.  He shook loose the psychopath from Jupiter so I went with it.  I let him go on with his crazy-ass self till I found my way back to the car.

The next day I went back.  This time with my husband in tow.  And guess who's naked hump I saw running out to the ocean?

Yup you guessed it.  I found my streaker.

Vacation Complete.


Note: I have no idea why I decided to share this story.  It clearly shows how much weirdness I attract and all the thing I do wrong to magnify my situation.  But in my defense, I didn't want to bring my husband with me.  Sometimes you just want to get out and be alone.  Clearly that did not happen.  I'm thinking of going back in November or December with my sister for a long weekend.  Anyone wanna come?  It would be like BlogHer, but not.  


Oh, and that sand-dollar Jupiter was checking out?  When we got home Gracie stepped on it and smashed it to a million little bits.  

Summer Vacation Day One

To think I actually was complaining like a school girl and moaning and groaning a few weeks ago that, "I want all my babies home with me" and "I can't wait till school's out so I can have them all to myself."  Now having them out of school for a few weeks and underfoot I have to ask myself this one simple question:  What the fuck is wrong with me?

I think I'm clinically insane.  I must be.  That's the only thing I can think of.  When they were in school I couldn't wait for them to get home and now that they're out of school I'm thinking of ways to plot my demise just so I can get a few seconds of silence.  Gawd, is this normal?  Or am I a nutter?

Here's what happened the first day out of school:

3:58 AM
I wake up.  What the??  What's going on here--ugggh, God, for real??  Had to be right now, huh???  Thank you mother nature.  Off to the bathroom.  Four of these, a tampon and a pad later and I try to go back to sleep.

The drug of choice.

5:50 AM
Husband's alarm goes off.  I am up.  He is not.

6:42 AM
I am landed on by Alex.  Ummph.  "I want to watch TV.  It's summer vacation and I don't need to get up and put clothes on, brush my teeth, eat breakfast, get my Zyrtec, get my backpack and lunch together and put shoes on and then go to school."  He continues, "I can get up and watch TV now I don't have to go to school."

I realize my husband at some point did get up and is out the door.  I am alone.

6:56 AM
Everyone is up and downstairs watching the start of an all day event called: Those Evil Bastards Phineas and Ferb Stole My TV and Won't Give It Back.

9:03 AM
I try to hide in the office only to be found by Gracie with a load in her pants and a roll of toilet paper wound all around the house, detailing her walking tour of the main level while taking a crap.

9:52 AM
I unwittingly come out of the office only to find the older two making what appears to be a miniature atom bomb on the kitchen counter all the while watching the afore mentioned little bastards who stole my TV who no doubt gave my spawn the idea to make a miniature A-bomb in the first place.

Atom bomb mess.

9:58 AM
I go upstairs and straighten the kids rooms.

10:18 AM
I try to sneak in a few (read twelve) Girl Scout cookies while I give Gracie a snack of Nilla wafers.  She spies my snack and pitches a fit.  Grabs both sides of her high chair, starts shaking it and screeching.  I had a fleeting thought that she reminded me of a monkey at the zoo trying to bust out of it's cage.  I have a little giggle.  She sees me getting a private laugh and her screaming, shaking and rattling take a drastic uptick.  Shit.  I cave and give her a cookie.  Too late.  She's gone over the edge and now wants NOTHING.

I try to calm her to no avail.  She Is One Pissed Off Maggot.

She pukes.

I winge.

And I'm hot, I'm sweaty and I still have cramps.  Fucking period.

I march her up to her bedroom and put her in her bed.  Slam the door and proceed to vacuum the house to block out her Screaming Fit of Rage all the while muttering a steady flow of obscenities under my breath, getting madder and madder at myself for my poor display of parenthood.

Now I'm hotter, sweatier and even pissier that I lost it over a Girl Scout Cookie.  A bloody Girl Scout cookie.  And it wasn't even a Thin Mint, it was a Samoa.  A God dammed Samoa...

11:22 AM
Done vacuuming and winging.  I've calmed down.  Gracie's out like a light and the kids are still making their atom bomb.

Start and finish cleaning puke after having forgotten about it and stepped in it.

Realize the ice maker is jammed with ice and is not working.  Walk away and make a mental note to tell hubs when he gets home.  Stick a dish towel in dispenser for safe keeping.

I hear a funny noise and disregard it.

11:34 AM
Make lunch knowing its going to be the same thing for the next several months:

• Easy Mac for Alex---cheese on the side in a separate bowl.   
• Velveta Shells for Lizzy---Velveta NOT Easy Mac.
• Leftovers and scraps for myself. 
• And Girl Scout cookies for Gracie.    

11:39 AM

I suck down four more Ibuprofen hoping my liver and kidneys hold out for another 6 days or my period ends, which ever comes sooner.

Come to the realization the oldest two are missing and so is their atom bomb.

Shit.

I go investigate.  Found the funny noise--bath tub filling.

Turns out it wasn't an atom bomb after all, it was a floating-water-machine-experiment-thing-with-guns-and-bombs that is now being "tested" in a green pool of bath water. Thanks Crayola Bath Time Colors.  I owe you one.   

Also found this mess which was explained to me as "the lambs were drawing and getting ready for a race and makeup party."

Mkay.

I go back downstairs and think of ways to kill myself and time it juuuust right so the kids won't be left unattended for too long.

Realize I may botch it and would be left cleaning up that mess as well.

Scrap plan.

Also realize I forgot about lunch when the kids went missing A WHOLE FIVE minutes ago and now they most likely won't eat it as "it's been sitting too long."

11:41 AM
Call kids down to eat and indeed the food has been sitting too long and they're refusing to eat.

Hunger strike begins.

Kids go back upstairs to play in green water and race lambs.

I eat crappy sat-too-long shells and cheese.  It indeed tastes like shit.  Their huger strike is warranted but not excusable.  I will never fess up to this particular fact.


I had to stop here.  Really, need I continue??

Suffice it to say I'm over summer vacation and it's not even started.

Note: the rest of the day played out just as I thought it would--they got pissed at each other because they were hungry and hypoglycemic (imagine that) and came downstairs crying.  I made another lunch for them and they were happy till something spilled.  I went to get Gracie from her nap and I found her with her diaper off, having peed the bed, now pulling apart the diaper.  In the same bed I changed earlier.  I got a call from the Allergist saying Alex had an appointment tomorrow that I didn't know about and on and on and on......my husband came home and to his shock and horror, I took a nice long drag off a bottle of wine before he even had his keys out of his hands, skipping a glass completely.  He had a blank stare to which I responded while wiping my lips with the back of my hand, "What?  What are you lookin at???"    

Things I will never understand but I'm going to blog about anyway.

Here are some things that I just don't get and the more I try to wrap my brain around it the more confused I get.  I have a small brain like that.

Here ya go:

• When my dental hygienist talks to me while I'm getting my teeth cleaned.  Now I'm not opposed to the talking bit, it's the part where she asks me questions and expects me to answer with her hands all in my mouth while wielding her sonic dental tool of death that has me miffed.  No, I can not answer you with a mouth full of spit and your hands and tools all jammed up and in there.  Stop getting mad at me for gurgling and not saying anything.  Seriously, I'm trying to concentrate on not licking you, like last time.  Now that would be embarrassing.    
• Wearing Spanx at the pool.  And a bra.  And nothing else.  Who does this??? Apparently this woman at our pool does.  She had on one of those Bali cross your heart's and, I shit you not, white Spanx.  Who in their right mind goes out in public like that?!?  I get that it's a squillion degrees, plus humidity, but for the love of Pete quit raping my eyes.  

• Listening to my daughter sweet talk the baby and it goes a little something like this: "Awww, who's got a pussy face, huh???  You have a pussy face, that's who!  Awww.  Pussy, pussy, pussy.  Do you have a pussy face?  Awww, you have such a sweet pussy face!" 
• The fact The Association got all pissy, pissed-off when the high schoolers foamed the fountain.  It's an annual right of passage ya old farts.  Lighten up.  And the fact that it needed it.  Last I walked by, there was a dead animal of some sort floating around in there.  You aught to be thanking them for cleaning it out.  

• The fact my husband wants Gracie to be potty trained at nineteen months.  I will not be a party to this.  She is not ready and I'm not going to be cleaning up pee and poo from the far corners of the house when she tries to hide her mess.  I already did this with my long dead cat and I have no wish to repeat it.  I stand firm on this and she will remain in diapers for the time being.  
• My remote.  We just had the whole house wired for audio and, for my convenience, we paid $300 for each "smart remote" so I could use it without getting pissed, throwing it and breaking it.  This may, or may not have happened in the past with previous remote controls.  So when I went downstairs to watch TV and was able to turn on the TV but not hear anything I frigging saw stars.  I was pissed enough to call Audio Guy Owner on Sunday morning because now I had a $300 remote and I couldn't even get the satisfaction of throwing something because $300 was just too much money to be chucking against the wall for my total lack of anger management skills. 
• To question the NO means NO policy.  You know, the one where a girl says "NO" it means NO, I'd rather not but thank you anyway.  It doesn't mean she really wanted it and was just mistaken.  I believe the theory is fundamentally flawed as my 18 month old does not listen to me at all when I say "NO."  Matter of fact, she went out of her way just today to do exactly what I didn't want her to do so that I was screaming, "NO, NO, NO!!!" at the top of my lungs and she looked me square in the face, said eff you, and still did it anyway.  Maybe it's not flawed, and maybe she didn't really say eff you, but every time she does something like that, after I say NO a zillion times, the thought that we expect someone to understand and respect the word NO makes me want to cut someone as my own eighteen month old doesn't even respect it.  Maybe she just doesn't respect me.  I don't know.  But that thought runs fleetingly through my mind as she's in the midst of her defiance.   

And now I leave you with one final conversation we had sitting round the table last night. My mom mentioned something about seeing a container full of cables and/or wires in the garage.  When she asked my husband what it was for and "Why on earth do we need a container full of wires and cables that were sitting out in the garage for over a year?"  My husband replied that, "No it could not go to Goodwill.  We may need them in the future" or some other load of crap that makes me fear for us being on the next episode of Hoarders.  I don't know.  I stopped listening as I knew how the conversation was going to end.  I kept sucking down my drink for fear of saying something I'd later regret.  I looked at my mom and may have mumbled a little too coherently, cue the regret part, "Welcome to my world" with a bonus eye roll to which my son replies, "Mom how many people are in your world?  One?"

Yes, my little boy, one very happy old lady getting drunker by the minute.  

So there you have it, things that I just don't understand or want to try to understand anymore.  Watch for me on an upcoming episode of Hoarders.  I have a feeling you'll know me when you see me.

"I don't wanna be home."

Those were the first words my daughter uttered when we came back.  Promptly followed by bursting into tears, sobbing and running to her bedroom.  And I was right behind her. 

Why does coming back have to be so depressing?

So we made it back from vacation all in one piece.  I had to stop posting for a bit as the connection was so bad that it just wasn't worth trying and getting all worked up, angry and bent out of shape.  It was a vacation after all.  

That and to be brutally honest, I've not had the time to write and when I have, I've had absolutely nothing to say.  Nothing.  I mean, crazy stuff has been going on, I've just not felt like writing about it.  Guess coming back home has been a bit hard on all of us.  

In between coming home, unpacking, laundry, getting food, birthdays, doctors and dentist appointments for the kids, contractors and painters, I've been left with zero time.  During the school year, I had a two hour window where I could get things done with the baby hanging around at my feet.  Not that I really got anything done but it was my time.  My time to do, or not do, with as I pleased.  It's becoming painfully obvious that with all three of them home for the summer, my own time has shrunk down to nothing.  

Anyway, here is the fun we had on Father's day.

And our feet...

Don't look too closely at my toes.  That's what happens when you have a five year old paint your toes, feet, legs, upper arms...notice she has her shoes on?  That and you can see all my white spots.  Sexy.  Dead sexy. 

Note: In relation to my last post, my mom sooo does not read this blog.  If she did, I'd have this thing shut down faster than a cover-up for an for an OSHA violation.  I mentioned her tree hugging, granola, I've been in the wild with no razor for years look as it was the third time I had to correct that particular problem.  Maybe that's why I've not had much to say....  

Try getting that out of your mind.

A few things have happened between now and the last time I posted.  First things first.  It was my mom's birthday.  Did I mention she's here with us?  No??  Well she is.  That, in and of itself, has been a blessing and a bane.

Blind Pass, Sanibel

Funny thing is, her birthday comes around in June and I forget it every year.  Without fail.  And every year she gets pissed.  Without fail.

This year I actually remembered the day before while we were out getting groceries.  Let me rephrase that.  My husband got a FaceBook reminder that it was her birthday.

Shit.

There I was, scrounging for a birthday present at the general store.  They had nothing unless I was going to give her eggs, milk, sunscreen or bug spray.  I settled for a pre-made cake and called it a day.

I took the kids out and drew pretty things in the sand for her and she was happy.

Then I almost forgot Father's day.  Let me rephrase that.  I did forget Father's day.  Totally.  I remembered it, only after my husband dropped me off at Blind Pass to go shelling at 6:00AM.  About an hour later, I was knee deep in water going for a shell and the thought brought me from a full stoop to upright in less than one tenth of a second.

I called him and he said not to worry.  I married a good man.

Alphabet cone

Lace Murex

We took a boat out to explore and I tell you that little bit of information to tell you this.  I have never been so petrified in my entire life.  I don't know what it was, but having all three kids on a boat, in open water, scared the hell out of me.  The only way to describe it was I had this horrible feeling that if anything went wrong I couldn't save all my kids and I'd be forced to choose.  And I could not come up with an answer.

I was never so happy to have my feet touch solid ground, grab all my kids and get off that damn boat.

Anyway, back to the blessing and bane bit about my mom.  There we were out on the beach talking to I don't remember and she has Gracie at her legs.  You know where I'm going with this, right? Right?? 

I start to play with Gracie and since she's at my mom's nether regions.  I can help but see.  It's not like I was going in for a quick peek or anything, Gracie's about mid-rift height.  There, right in front of my face, and behind my little girl: Full Bush.

Full Bush.  People, my mom had not shaved her bits in years.

Years, people, years.  Uggghhhh.....

Who walks out of the house like that?!?  Before you answer that, I already know.  MY MOM.

I was mortified.  There she was, yammering on, Gracie's making a fuss and people are looking right at it.  She was clueless and just yammering away.

We're talking full bush.  Monkey's at the zoo have less hair.  Pube's Gone Wild.  Granola.  Tree hugging, save the planet a razor style.  

And that's the bad visual I'm leaving you with today.

Now try getting that seared out of the back of your retina's.

Ear rape. My poor ears are being ear raped. Repeatedly.

Since going back to school from Christmas break we've had the same DVD in the minivan playing on heavy rotation.  Let me rephrase that.  It the only DVD that's been playing since last year.  On repeat.  Every day.  Six times a day.  I've lived with listening to this thing play over and over for the last five months and I slowly went from wanting to scream to the sad realization that I was going to be listening to it every day for the rest of my life.

Ear Rape.

By definition it's the forced act of listening to an unwanted movie, song or You-tube video that your children insist on hearing.  In order to maintain a modicum of sanity, peace and prevent meltdowns, you unwittingly comply.

My ears have been raped in this fashion since last year.

The DVD is Robots. Quite a cute movie actually.  Well, again let me rephrase that.  I've only heard it, never really seen it.  You know, I have to drive the car.

I have it memorized.  All of it.

Every Single Word.

Every once in a while I try throwing myself a bone and I'm all like, "Hey guys, do you wanna watch Twelve Dancing Princesses or Swan Lake?"

My tactic is simple really, go for the weakest link.

Lizzy.

The girls gotta cave for Barbie sooner or later.

So after I ask them about Barbie, they both look back at me, then each other, and say in synchrony, "Nope!"

I swear it's collusion. They're working together.  I just know it.

Yesterday when Alex was looking for the remote I got all excited and was like, "Hey, you guys wanna watch Barbie, right?"  Right??

"Nope!"  Again in unison.

Those little bastards.

But there was something else.  I could see it in their faces, they were up to something.

"We still want to watch Robots, mom, but this time in French.  It says right here it can be watched in multiple different languages."  Alex says while tapping the DVD case.  Clearly proud of this new found discovery.

Tap, tap tap.

Sigh.

They are little bastards.

So that's why my ears have been raped all over again, except this time in French.

The fat man and the deer...

I don't know how these things happen to be but they do.  I'm sorry to say, someone higher up is laughing their ass off at me right now. 

So I was out the day after Easter going for a jog and I was in the middle of a trail at our park.  It's a wooded section and it's at the top of all these switchbacks.  Since it was the day after Easter and I had consumed a good two pounds of ham, about fourteen deviled eggs and half the white coconut lamb I was extra fat and slow. 

So yes, I was struggling my ass off up the hills.  I was panting like Darth Vader, muttering a slew of obscenities under my breath and my left foot was slightly behind the right.  All the while I was dragging what was left of my bloated carcass up the final stretch. 

I was centering in on the pain, singing, farting, cursing the Autism gods, the Fates, Karma and anything else I could blame for my current state of affairs.  Looking reality in the face is not one of my strong suits.  My husband tells me bitching about it is.  

So, you know, I was generally making a fool out of myself.  But I about three miles in this trail.  There was no one else out there with me except trees and nature. 

Boy, was I wrong.

I look up and I see this big guy coming at me.  I mean big, he had to be at least 2,930 pounds.  Is my first thought, "Hey wow Michelle your campaign to fight obesity is so totally working, this big guy's out exercising the day after Easter.  Good for you Mrs. President's wife. "

Is that my first thought?!?

No, absolutely not.

My very first thought was, "Holy shit.  Bet there were no leftovers today at his house."

Don't judge.

Anyway, that's what I was thinking when I look up and I see these two white tailed deer coming at me.  Fast.  The first words that come out of my mouth are:

"Fat Jesus!!"  And for good measure, "Oh Holy Shit!" 

Apparently I was still thinking of that man working off his Easter dinner and I guess I was afraid my death was going to come by mauling (how embarrassing) so I screamed out for my savior. 

In any case, the big guy turns around thinking I've just slurred him and I'm all like, "No.  No, there were some deer!  Seriously, they were coming right at me!  For real, see??"  I point over to the brush.  And there was nothing there.

I think he wanted to kill me. 

And that's why I now carry my cell phone with me when I go out for a run.  The police can contact my husband via my ICE number and they can and tell him I was either mauled by deer or eaten by a big fat man going for round two. 



Note: The IEP meeting happened and I'm not too pleased with it.  I mean, yay he's officially in the Gifted Program, but everything else was a bust.  I'm working on the paper trail and documentation so I can proceed.