How to get waited on hand and "foot"

My father always said I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. I would have argued with him, but I was too busy falling on my face. Despite my lack of coordination, I have been pretty lucky. I have only ever broken three bones in my lifetime. The first time I broke a bone, I was in my early twenties; it was my ankle. I was taking the stairs two at a time at work, and rolled my ankle, landing on it, from one step to the ground floor. I broke my foot in three places. (My friends' response to that? "Don't go there, anymore!" Get it? Yeah, it wasn't that funny then, either). After that, over the years, I have broken my little toe, twice. The first time, I hit my son's Rescue Heroes fire truck. The second time, I slammed my toe into the Lego table, and I went one way, the toe went the other. Let me just say: "OW."

Honestly, though, when I twisted my ankle this weekend by taking a wrong step from the sidewalk into the flower bed, it really, really hurt. I have spent the last few days icing it and finally went to the doctor on Tuesday because I feared I had broken my foot. Thankfully, I managed to save the iPad from plummeting to the cement in what would have been a certain death. The fall I took instead was a small price to pay, but I paid dearly. The verdict: severe ankle sprain. I actually pulled some tendons. The doctor gave me a brace and I am supposed to gradually start bearing weight on it. But for now, I am mostly confined to the couch with my foot up while everyone else around me is a whirling dervish trying to accomplish what is day-to-day routine for me: cleaning, cooking, taking care of pets, driving kids where they need to go... You would think I am enjoying this, but I can't. I don't do well being waited upon. And I really don't do well watching other people work and not accomplish things to my standards. So I am constantly getting up to do things, and my family is constantly making me sit on the couch again. Very frustrating.

When I do venture off the couch, it's slow going. I can't walk fast at all, I sort of shuffle around, dragging my bad ankle behind me. Right now, I am looking at a least a few weeks of the "zombie shuffle." So much fun. I sit on the couch, and the cat lies down on the blanket next to me. With the walking stick and the cat I am one shark tank away from being a super-villain, I suppose. I would also like a trap door, please.

Still, all is not lost. At least I match my toenails, now. It's something.

Pity, Party of One, your table is ready

I haven't been very funny lately. I know, I know. you come to this space to find the tongue-in-cheek witticisms to distract you from life, and I have been letting you down. in my defense, things aren't hilarious right now. And, since this space is all about me, it's well, all about me.

What changed, you ask? From the fight with the spider to zombie conversations...what made life So Serious? About a week ago, I realized: This is My Life. Just like that. I actually see it in caps. this is what I live. It is what it is, and it won't really get any better. I won't write the Great American Novel. I won't be rich, or glamorous. I won't rise to the top of the glass ceiling. I know, that doesn't seem that important, and I really don't want to conquer Corporate America. But I still want the option.

When you are young, the world is your oyster. Pearls are there for the taking. At twenty, you aren't a bestselling author..it's ok, there's time. In your forties, Time Is Running Out. You're old. You're washed up. You're irrelevant. Leave it to the youngsters, they have more energy, and why don't you just go and find yourself a nice rocking chair there by the fire? Yeah. NO.

I am usually a fairly positive person, though I bitch a lot. I can always find the "blessing" (how I hate that word..how pious it seems, but really, no better word can be found) in the mess. There is always a silver lining. For example: In 2006, we had a house fire. The structure was still standing, but we lost damn near everything.

We had to move out into a rental for six months, with little more than the clothes on our backs. We found ourselves wandering WalMart at midnight on a Sunday because it was the only store open, and we needed underwear, people! How do you put your life back together after that? We had to buy clothes, and pajamas, and toothbrushes and and and. I was in shock. It was awful. I would never wish the experience upon anyone. BUT. And here is where I am crazy: I was blessed. My faith increased, my family became closer, I learned gratitude. I started over. Now I try to keep only those things that as William Morris put it, "...you find to be useful or believe to be beautiful." And my house was completely redone, from top to bottom. For the first time, I had real bedroom furniture! And dishes that I didn't inherit from my mother! And a home that was completely my style, and brand new everything! And that was the silver lining. I didn't blog about it, the emotions were too raw. In fact, I didn't blog at all for almost two years. That experience helps to keep it all in perspective.

Cut to this last Sunday: I had one of the worst days that I can remember. Right now, JNerd is out of town, along with JBug. It's just me and the two youngers, fending for ourselves. Sunday afternoon, our cat started yowling and lying on the ground. He wouldn't walk, and something was wrong. So to the ER vet we went. Verdict: urinary blockage. LIFE-THREATENING emergency. Exactly the reason that vets exist. The vet needed to do some things that required sedating the cat, so I took the kids to Taco Bell for a quick bite. When I went to start the car, my battery was dead. I had to call AAA to come jump it, and hope that, since it was after hours and I couldn't call the vet, they would be understanding in case I was late. (thankfully, they were, and I wasn't). Because the battery was dead, I had to keep the car running while I picked up the cat. Environment be damned. I wasn't going to get stuck there...I had a sick cat to get the after-hours clinic for overnight treatment. And let me tell you, you haven't lived until you have pumped gas with the engine running for fear if you shut it off you will be stranded.

Finally got home after 9 p.m. and my kids were a wreck. Tucked them in. Made myself a drink and opened my laptop to find: nothing. The screen was black, but I could hear it was on. I tried a whole lot of tech support stuff ("Did you turn it off and one again??") but it was unresponsive.

So, a recap.. cat, battery, computer. It comes in threes right?

My point, people, and I DO have one... that day sucked. The next day sucked as I had to get up at the buttcrack of dawn to get the cat from the Night ER vet to my regular vet. Thankfully, I had my husband's car. Once I did that, I had to get my van to Costco so that they could explain to me why my battery had failed after less than two years. Turns out Costco doesn't install or remove batteries, but it doesn't matter because we don't have yours in stock right now anyway ma'am and there's an auto store down the street that can probably help you, have a nice day. Well. Fine.

I drove my van, which by some miracle started, to Pep Boys (who I cannot say enough nice things about, you guys!) Bought my battery. They took pity on the poor married lady who was abandoned by her husband for greener conventions, and took one look at the small ragamuffin in tow who was heat-bedraggled, and had me in and out of there in fifteen minutes! Fifteen minutes! New battery, yay! And, Costco gave me a full refund on my battery that failed.

When I finally got home, and was reflecting upon the events of the last coupIe of days, and it was all feeling a bit like being pecked to death by ducks. Then it hit me... (here is where I get all treacly) I really am blessed. Talk about First World Problems! We had enough money and resources to treat our sick cat. I have an auto club so that I don't get stranded when I have a problem. I have an extra car so that I could get my cat and not rely upon the kindness of my friends. I have enough money to get a new battery, and the resources to get it installed. I am rich compared to much of the world. That thought shut me up. I really have nothing to complain about. No one is dying. These are all transitional worries. I realize how obnoxious this sounds. Who really appreciated when Dad said, "Eat your peas, there are children starving in Africa?" And honestly, I got smacked when I once retorted, "Well, then, send the peas to THEM!" (made sense at the time) I am not telling you to eat your peas. I'm really not. I am telling myself. I am reminding myself that though I just turned forty_ahem ...life is not over. Life is still beautiful. My body may be changing, and my youth may be fading, but life is still good. Life is always good. Sometimes I just forget it for a bit.

As I write this, the cat is still at the vet, and will probably be ok. It will just be expensive. And I hate having to spend the money. But I love the fact that I have the resources to make the decisions that are required. I am not loaded monetarily by any means. It will be a stretch and we may eat cheese sandwiches for dinner for a bit. (more or less) but I am rich, in all the ways that count. And that revelation? Is priceless.

It wasn't about the dog park, it's about autism

One of the advantages of having a blog (not to include the adoration, popularity and buckets of money being thrown my way) is that I have a forum where I get the last word. Sometimes, that's helpful. So I can tell you about my run in with the crazy woman at the dog park last night and that might be healing.

Last night was just like any other summer night. The days are so hot that we wait to take the dog to the park until evening. That works well, most of the time. Poppy was her usual boisterous self, bouncing from one dog to the next, having a grand old time. There is a smallish Austrailian Sheperd that is pretty obnoxious. It flits back and forth, trying to herd the dogs, barking in their faces. I have seen it there for the last week or so. It likes to bark at Poppy. She pretty much takes it stride, the way she takes it all in stride. She is big, bouncy, but harmless. She is big, and black, and that seems to put people on edge who aren't familiar with Newfoundlands. Read: just about most people. There is even a name for it among newfy owners: Big Black Dog Syndrome.

Poppy figures that since this dog is yapping in her face, she must want to play, so they were chasing and bouncing, so far nothing out of the ordinary. The little dog was on its back and Poppy was standing over it, the way dogs do. This crazy nut job went over and started kicking my dog! You need to understand, I am rarely more than six feet away at any given time, and usually even closer than that. I am the original "helicopter parent" when it comes to my dog. At any point, if she starts getting too rambunctious, or if the other dog looks like he isn't having fun, I pull her out of the fray, and we take a break. I am a responsible owner. I read books, I educate myself. I have learned dog body language and figured out what to watch for. My dog is not aggressive. And even in play, I would never allow my dog to go too far with another dog. So when this, for want of a better word, bitch, started kicking my dog I lost it.

I would never hit anyone. But I started yelling at her. She tried to say my dog was "biting" hers. Her dog was driving the play! Some other guy (I cannot call him a man) who was so good at watching his dog that I never even knew which dog was his (that's sarcasm) said it was my fault and I needed to get my dog under control. Know this: Poppy is at the dog park five or six times a week. She does not have a control problem. I can pull her out when the play gets to be too much. She takes a time out. After she was attacked by another dog (and I was bitten) I worked really hard on this. His accusations were completely unfounded.

One of the most frustrating things that I find about myself is that if I am in the right and I feel persecuted, I cannot have an argument when it gets heated. I lose all eloquence and cannot form a coherent thought. Basically, I sound like an idiot. This time, not only did that happen, I was going to cry. Time to get the hell out of there. My brain short-circuited. As I was leaving, I uttered words to make a sailor blush. I am not proud of my behavior, and I am furious at myself for acting that way. Fight or Flight kicked in and I lost it.

Once I got to the car, I burst into tears, and promptly had a panic attack. I couldn't breathe and I felt like my heart was in shards. I continued to cry after we got home, locked myself in my room, and just couldn't function. What the hell is the matter with me? I just don't know. But after sleeping on it, I think I know a bit more of what set me off.

I have a stressful life. It isn't anyone's fault; it's just the way the cards were dealt. Most of the time, it's ok. Last night, it just hit the fan. I was devastated that someone was rejecting my dog. While you may want to laugh at that, consider this: it was just one more special-needs "kid" in my family who was snubbed. In other words, it was a trigger for me.

For the last seventeen or so years, I have watched one or another of my children struggle to make friends, be accepted, be loved. I have stood by while being silently judged, "WHY can't you stop that child from tantruming/having trouble with social stimuli/being rigid?" I have endured the cold shoulder from parents who have decided that my child isn't worthy of their child's time because she is "different." I have watched my son embarrass himself in front of others and be completely oblivious of their reaction. I have seen my daughter be left out of social events because she doesn't like the same things as her peers, and watched her cry over her lack of acceptance. So, no, I will not apologize for losing it at the dog park when people who had no idea about actual dogs judged my dog as beneath theirs. I will not.

I realize how ridiculous this sounds. She's a dog. I get it. For me, it was about more than the dog. I had a reason to be angry over my dog's treatment, but the anger I really felt was misplaced. It was grief.

Over the years, I have had to come to terms with the fact that I did not give birth to cheerleaders. There is no Big Man On Campus in my home. Indeed, there is no campus. None of my children will get the lead in the school play, though they might be in the chorus. I did not give birth to "popular" kids. The phone doesn't ring for play dates much. I am actually ok with this. What I am not ok with is how others see them. They are smart, generally well-mannered (if you don't count the twelve year old and his twelve-year old boy behavior) and loving children. They deserve better. They deserve friends who like them for who they are. And they deserve grown ups, who should know better, that give them a chance and don't automatically write them off as playmate for their kids because they are "different." I am fucking tired of this. That's right, I just used "fucking" on my blog, for the first time, ever. I am done.

So. You are on notice. If you snub my child, I will call you on it. I will try to do it kindly, but I will do it. In an era when we are trying to pay attention to others' rights and difficulties, I will call you on bad behavior, leaving out my children simply because they have autism. I am done being nice. Now I am fighting back.

Autism is a vampire and it sucks out your soul

Today was promotion Sunday, an annual event through our homeschool group. It is usually a big deal with all the kids going up to receive their promotion certificates, and graduates of both the eighth grade and high school. I don't have any pictures; we barely managed to get there. Today was one of THOSE days. Those who have kids with autism will understand. We just keep on, keeping on, trying not lose ourselves.

My son is twelve, going on sixteen, he thinks. He has a real problem with being told what to do.

every interaction between us seems to go like this:

Me: polite request
Him: protest
me: again,with the polite request
Him: "logical" reason why he should not comply
me: a bit more forceful request
Him: complaints about how I think he is stupid/difficult/it's not his fault, it's mine
me: [frustration ensues...either walk away and take a deep breath or yell]
Him: [depending upon what I do] yells at me, how I am such an idiot and I don't get it..
me: come back,and try again, cajole/plead/explain why he would do whatever it is I wanted him to do in the first place
Him: [grudging compliance]

Part of the problem is that he and my youngest are absolutely oil and water these days. JBean, my youngest, is usually a very happy little girl. Unfortunately, this extends to her high-pitched voice, often singing, or talking, incessantly. It makes my JBear, my son, crazy. He starts lashing out, and getting on edge, and will say mean things to her about can't she just shut up, and her voice is driving him crazy...hurtful things. She doesn't know how to fight back verbally (nor should she learn...he is out of line) so she does one of two things. She will either hit him, or yell at him. Neither of these things are particularly useful in dealing with him, and often make things worse. Where am I, you ask? Probably the bathroom, or taking the dog out, or loading the dishwasher....I cannot be in their face 100% of the time. They have to learn not to aggravate one another. Of course, when there are problems, I am always right there. Often the damage is done.

My son has no remorse. I realize this is part of his autism, no matter how high-functioning it may be. The lack of mirror neurons that allow empathy are definitely a hindrance for him. As a teenager, his cerebral cortex is not quite connected to his brain. He is in fight or flight, all the time...he sees the entire world as against him. He is rarely sorry, and doesn't think he ever does anything wrong. He does not admit mistakes and generally has a self-absorbed entitlement attitude. I did not raise him this way, and am still trying to fix it. Often, I feel like I am banging my head against a wall. I know he is trying...but he just has such a long way to go. I feel like I am not helping him much. I seem to be the problem, as far as he is concerned. He is oblivious to his role in the whole mess.

Today, while I was trying to finish in the kitchen, he was having a hard time with his sister. Everyone ended up yelling at everyone else, and I had had enough. JNerd tries to out yell them, and it doesn't work. I told them all I was not going to live like this anymore; I have had it. We weren't going today, not with the way they were acting. So I decided to take a drive for a bit, to cool down. After about ten minutes, I came back, a bit calmer. Apparently, all hell had broken loose while I was gone. My son had tried to goad my husband into a physical altercation. He hit my husband, as hard as he could. Apparently, it was side-stepped, and I was able to defuse the situation. We ended up going to the ceremony, and everyone was on their best behavior.

When we returned home, I tried talking to my son, and he was not receptive at that point. He hates to be called out on his behavior, and will deflect as much as he can. I stayed calm for the most part, and finally was able to get through to him, for now. Eventually, my son did admit he was wrong, but it was several hours later.

Remember, on top of this, I also deal with a younger one who was diagnosed with autism, as well. She has her own issues, usually pertaining to transitions, change, rigidity, anxiety and MamaMustBeThereAtAllTimes. The worse he gets, the more she clings to me. The more unrest in our home the more she clings to me. She tries so hard, but she has a hard time coping at times. That means relying upon me, more often than not.

I am DRAINED. Exhausted, and really questioning every decision for my children I have made thus far. I am hoping tomorrow will bring more clarity. So tonight, I sleep. And pray and hope that I figure out what I am doing wrong. Autism is hard. Teen boy is hard. Putting the two together: feels insurmountable. My migraines have gotten more frequent and worse. I don't sleep well. I am, so far, staving off the depression that threatens to crush me. (I eat well and exercise, both help) But so help me, if I survive his growth into manhood, I hope it is with my soul intact.

Is this the blues or Spring Fever?

I don't know what's wrong with me, I just can't seem to keep my blog updated lately. I am not particularly depressed, but I am a bit burnt out, so that has something to do with it, no doubt. I am just not feeling it.




It just finished raining for two days here, with a break yesterday. Now it is raining again. I don't really like the rain, it's depressing. I don't know why, it just is. I am a sun kid, all the way. It is why I live in Southern California. I think I have always been very sensitive to weather.

When JNerd and I were first married, he had an opportunity to work for Microsoft. (this was before they were Uber-Evil) and I just knew I could not do Seattle weather. It rains there, what? 200 days out of the year? I would be suicidal in six months. We opted to stay in Southern California, and I think we are both very happy we did so. There are certainly trade offs. For the cost of our house here, we could have a mini-mansion in almost any other state. (Except Reston, VA, which is the only other place I ever considered moving..when JNerd worked for AOL years ago. The homes there cost as much as they do here, due to being so close to Washington D.C.)

Every once in a while, I see pictures of the seasons in other states that my friends post on facebook and think, "Wow, maybe we want that. The newf would love that weather!" And then I remember as a kid, watching my mother curse the snow and ice in Alaska as she bundled up and threw hot water on her car windshield, trying to get the ice to melt. I remember her chipping away with an ice scraper. I recall my dad, endlessly shoveling snow so that we could move the car, and I know I really don't want to deal with any of that!




So, here is where we stay. The weather is temperate, the people in my city are nice, and I like it here. I don't like the political climate, but unless I move to Vermont or Berkeley, that's not likely to change. I've learned to live with it, and bite my tongue...a lot.

I am not saying we would never move; if JNerd's job took us out of state, we would go. But this is home. It is the only home the kids have ever known. I have been here half my life now, but I am not bored. I am still finding areas I don't know. It is very easy to do so since the concentration of cities is so dense. Google Maps is a lifesaver! I am still learning city names, believe it or not!

Love it or leave it, it's home. And while the sky may let loose, I know the rain will soon come to an end, and it won't require a snow shovel, or boots or wool socks. So all of you out there in Maine, and Wyoming, and Nova Scotia, though I admire your pictures, I will live where my toes stay relatively warm!

T. who has cold feet, but a warm nose T.

A Morning with my Eldest

Teenagers R Hard.
T.
cartoon: xkcd