Apology

I seriously doubt that those to whom I am "apologizing" to will read this. Too bad. It counts.

Here goes.

To those people having their "private" party at the pool when our swim team was having their fundraiser: I'm sorry that my four year old autistic son's enjoyment of the water during your party took so much away from you. He waded in the water, walked until he was waist high, walked out, around the edge, jumped off, later-rinse-repeat for 10 minutes. I realize that the four feet of water that he occupied--never, ever walking near ANYONE from your party was a big hassle. However, had you come up to me and said, "hey, this is a private party" at a PUBLIC pool that usually had swim hours open during that time, I'd probably have explained his autism and his immense LOVE of water. I'm sure that since everyone could hear him scream at first because he was not allowed in the water, you thought he was simply a brat. Because your children are perfect angels. I am sure that you are perfect parents. I could tell. The gang tattoos spelled it out. (Yeah, I have tatoos too, but they don't identify me as a gang members as yours did.) Ok, there I go, being judgemental, but had YOU come up to me rather than sending a life guard over to say something, eh, I hope that you feel better. Oh, forgot to add, that had YOU come up to me yourself, I'd probably offered you money to let my son not bother you. Because there were 5 kids in the pool that can hold over 100. And he wasn't bothering you. Maybe I'm wrong. But trying to make sure that the noise level of his screaming was absent wasn't wrong. He's not a brat. He loves water.

Superiority complexes. Not mine.

Why is it that the superiority complex that some have causes them to continuously degrade those over whom they feel they are superior?

I have a slight complex on that my own. There are some people that I think that I am better than. But, unless they are my children, I don't think that a lecture is the best way about it. But let me get one thing clear,I don't think I am better than my children. In fact, probably the other way around, but I'm obligated as a mother to lecture them. Seriously, it's in the manual I got when I gave birth. That manual is why I'm such a great mother. You didn't get one? Then, well, let me lecture you. Yeah. Right. Ask my teenager if I'm the best mom. If she thinks I'm going to hear the answer, she'll say yes. If she thinks she can remain anonymous, she'll be honest and say that I'm not the best mom, but I'm her mom.

But there are others that think that they are better than just about every one on the planet. However, the main person of whom I write (rather passively agressively, I admit) has never offered suggestions on how to improve the state of being of the situations of which he complains. The reason I take this passive aggressive stance is because I want to unload all of this anger over the idiocy and be done with it. I confront directly and I'm sucked into his endless loop of his posturing. I figure, if there's any sucking going on, it's going to be me. On a lemon. Something I enjoy. (Actually, I do enjoy eating lemons. Could explain the status of my teeth!)

I caved.

After posting about not sprucing, I spruced. Decided I was decidedly annoyed with and tired of an old blanket covering my bedroom window. Bought a "curtain rod" (and not one I had to do much work for. Went with one of those "pressure" shower bars. No hardware, no drilling, no looky-fancy. But it works. Couldn't find any curtains that matched the blankets we have nor could I find one that would inspire me to change the bedding color scheme. Couldn't find material to make curtains either. Decided, then a flat sheet will have to do. Found one in the color scheme--got ribbon that complimented the color scheme--it was so polite when it said, "Hello, you gorgeous sheet. I shall be what holds onto the rod and turns you from sheet to fancy curtain!"

Came home. HAND sewed the ribbon onto the sheet and voila! A curtain that matches my bedding. Doesn't look tacky either. I hope. And thus far, Colby has not felt the need to pull on it or tear it up. This equals success.

I spruced. Now, if I could only get inspired to clean.

Sprucing Up the Tree House

I need to spruce up the ole' blog. I'm not good at sprucing up. If you've been in my house, say, EVER, you know this. I want to. I think about it. I never get around to it. It's like the procrastination statement that I stole from somewhere, but since I talk to voices in my head, I could have stolen it from myself. "I wanted to procrastinate, but I put it off."

I may be the only person that considers "sprucing" to be the same as "cleaning". Or else I just don't do either.

Completely unrelated, Colby was chattering to himself or ghosts in the hallway. Wish I could translate into type the noises he was making. Was pretty amusing and sounded like conversation--not babble. As I type this, he has his Popeye thing going and is talking his m&m cookie breath into my mouth. It's a little odd. Woah. My typing teacher would be proud that I was able to type all of that with toddler in my face blocking my vision of the screen and keyboard. Colby has removed himself from my lap and is perusing a magazine. I believe he is perusing it to figure out which photo he will tear from the magazine first. Not that it matters. Once he's taken one out, he decimates it pretty quickly. Ever seen cartoons when some swarm of some insect or whirlygig of animal devours a mass mound of food, etc? Yeah, that's my boy with a magazine or book or diaper or plastic bag or something else that could be torn into infinitesimal pieces that become sandlike underfoot. And this is why I will not be "sprucing" up anytime soon.

irritation

I'm a little too irritated to write rationally.

Wonder if that happens to "real" writers or if that's just part of George Wendt's prediction about my crabby status. But, George, I'm TRYING to keep from being crabby.

Maybe for days like this, I ought to find some of my old stuff and post it. You'd all enjoy that. And by "you" I mean, um, someone is reading this...I think....right now I have to stop because Colby wants me to massage his foot...and Tatiana insists I tickle her leg "nice".

Mother's Day. It's hard. I expected last year's to be hard. It was "the first". I'm told by a friend that lost her mother 20+ years ago that it's never easier than the first one. Even though I am a mom now, it doesn't feel special. At all. Thank goodness for the teachers in the preschools and schools--got cute little craft items from the toddlers. Of course, they don't know the meaning of the day. And currently, Colby is sitting on the floor in his sister's dress that she refused to wear on our trip to lunch, ripping out the hair from the head of the doll that was my mother's. Completely innocent. And at least it is not from the head of the doll that is his sister. I don't think Tatiana would take it well. But, she's not a lifeless piece of molded plastic. She'd hit back. Probably bite and most likely yank some hair out of his head.

Interestingly enough though, Colby stood in the hallway in front of the China Hutch that was my mother's and that I for some unknown reason HAD to keep and stared up at the top shelf on the right side. Where the ashes of his grandmother reside. I am pretty sure he sees and communicates with ghosts better than he sees and communicates with people in front of him. I hope he told his Grandma in Heaven (which is what we call her now for the toddlers trying to differentiate between their grandparents) Happy Mother's Day.

Colby's voice

I wrote most of this as a response to a blog written by a mother of a non-verbal little girl with Autism. It was written about how they communicate. Her daughter does what Colby does when he wants something. She takes one of her mother's fingers and pulls her up and leads her to the cabinet or refrigerator where they play a game of "let's figure it out." I was reading it and could picture myself and Colby doing this!

He is still non-verbal so we play this “game” often. Sometimes he gives up on my inability to understand him and climbs to get whatever it is himself. Unfortunately, it’s often something I don’t want him to have at that moment.
When he allows me the chance to meet his needs, he signs “please”. The “specialists” said he would never use it independently and appropriately. They are proven wrong daily.
I “hear” his “I love you”s when he sits quietly in my lap (usually right before he sleeps, because otherwise he is not EVER still) playing with my hair. Then he stops suddenly puts his forehead against mine and stares deeply into my eye just millimeters from his. He squints and squeezes my neck and my heart hears “I love you” louder than ears could hear shouts. Of course, my ears long to hear him say the words. Do not pity my ears though, they are not too neglected; they are constantly full of Tatiana jabbering away!

I have issues. But if you know me, you know that.

Couldn't write this morning. Had "work" things to do. Can I just say that after being back now for a week after a six week leave time, why? I should have just quit like I'd intended. I accomplished nothing during the six weeks. Ok, not NOTHING. I did get my hair cut. That took an hour. How many hours are in six weeks? I could do the math but I don't want to. I might by the time I'm done, only because that part of my brain refuses to be told something that I'm quite capable of figuring out on my own. Ok, where was I? I seem to have lost my paddle down this trip of stream of conciousness. Oh, yeah, the other thing accomplished? Tatiana pottytrained. Of course, she gets most of the credit. And it really only took two days once I got serious about it. But the living room? Still filthy. kitchen? Don't get me started. Bedroom? Seriously? My brain? That's the filthiest of all. Sometimes that's a good thing. But I can't go into that..because I didn't mark this blog as "adult content only". eh.

What else to talk about tonight? I had thought of something earlier. Didn't write anything down because, you know, "I'll remember it." Any other of you folks out there considering yourself writers ever do that to yourself?

Oh, yeah. I was in line to get my morning McDonalds coffee. (Medium, 5cream, 5 sugar. And yes, please put it in for me because if I tried to do that AND drive I'm sure to spill it on myself. And there's legal precedence to sue you for that. And I spilled their coffee on me once (not because I was adding the chemicals to it but because I'm an idiot) and those warnings on the cup, "This stuff is hot. And not bathtub water hot. Scalding could sterilize tattoo needles hot." Can you imagine a coffee tattoo? Ok, I've completely digressed. But seriously, I wouldn't sue them because of LOGIC. I didn't order ICED coffee, so I expect that it shall be hot. In fact, if it doesn't burn the tastebuds off the front of my tongue with the first drink, I'm fairly annoyed.

It's not the coffee itself that I wanted to talk about, it's the idiocy of the cars in front of me. Well not the cars themselves, but the people behind the wheel. Apparently, they think that they are on the highway as they are sitting in the 12 car line at the drive thru. There was a half car length in between three of the cars in front of me. Are they expecting someone to rearend them and wanted to make sure they didn't then tap the bumper of the car in front of them? I confess. If someone sneezes in the car behind me, I'm probably in the trunk of the car in front of me. Perhaps this is because the drive thru lane at this particular McDonalds blocks parking. I am constantly worried that someone is going to come out of the joint itself and I will be blocking their exit. People here are completely insane. I'm afraid that they will bash my car in their attempt to leave or will say mean things to me as if I intentionally blocked them in. But seriously, a half car length? What, their carpits aren't clean and you don't want to smell the autobody odor? Doesn't make sense to me. I'm ridiculous and I'm aware that I am. But it bugs me. Almost as much as the annoying kitkat commercial playing as I type this. I HATE hearing people eat. Maybe that's why they keep their distance in the drive thru--they don't want to hear the people in the car in front of them chew. Maybe I'll back off the bumper.

And so it begins...

Well, here I go, entering the blogging world. This is basically an online journal of sorts and while I always enjoy comments, unless you are offering encouragement or CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, you'll be ignored or deleted. Also, most of the time the "musings" (I'm so snooty right now!) will be done straight out of my head or that place I go to when writing. Punctuation and spelling be damned. If I review my posts and decide that whatever is written is worthy of editing, I've got an English degree or two and I can do that whole editing/spellcheck thing all by my onesie, savvy? And now I'm wondering why I'm channelling Jack Sparrow from Pirates..oh, excuse me, CAPTAIN John Sparrow.

This is what you can expect. A bunch of meandering thoughts which make no sense all together. It's called brainstorming and something else--the term of which I cannot recall at the time--oh, yes, stream of conciousness. This is what I am creating the blog for. Me. Stream. Conciousness.Writing. Hopefully I drown in the stream because it is within that stream that I believe true creation lies. I'm writing this for me because one big thing has stuck with me since college. Thank you Mr. George Wendt. I hope that your heaven is filled with good poetry. You deserve it. You influenced me more in one semester than many people in my life have tried in years. You told me once that if I did not continue to write, I would become a bitter old woman. Those of you that find me bitter? Yeah, guess who has not been writing. That would be me. Thus the reason for the blog. Maybe I should have titled it something about bitterness. Too bad my sister came up with something totally hilarious! And thanks to all of my other friends that came up with great things too! Maybe I'll make multiple blogs and just use them all!! Let's get real. I'll be lucky if I can keep this ONE up.

I am going to finish my cup o' coffee and get ready to go to the gym. It's about time I immerse myself in things that are good for me. Stream of conciousness. Ocean of exercise. As my sister says though, Type at you later.