It's a gorgeous almost fall day outside. Sunny, breezy, kid with Autism not in too much mania, you know, the PERFECT day. Except for drama. Why does there always have to be drama? Why can't I just enjoy a nice day. I don't remember the last time I enjoyed a day.
**FROM HERE DOWN IS NOTHING BUT A BIG PITY PARTY BITCH FEST. CONTINUE READING OR NOT. BUT IF YOU CONTINUE READING, PLEASE, EITHER COMMENT WITH SUPPORTIVE "There there" TYPE COMMENTS OR STFU...BECAUSE YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED READING.*****
Seriously, I do not create drama. I usually go out of my way to avoid drama, often at the expense of my own sanity. Well, there's a futile effort because I deny myself and end up with more than my damn share of drama.
I have always worked hard to ensure that people around me are happy. I'm a little Cinderella-ish in that way because I feel like I sleep near fires and everything around me is all dirty....but I want to make everyone happy....but I'm a little tired of nobody caring if I am ACTUALLY happy. They want me happy enough that I don't lash out and make them miserable...but actually helping to prevent me from that lashing out, nah. Too much effort it seems.
Putting things back where you got them (better yet, back where they were when I put them away...because in all likelihood, you picked them up after someone else picked them up and just put them wherever.)
Hanging up a towel? seriously, you like mold? Yeah, I don't. It's gross. Preventing easier than cleaning.
Putting clean clothes away so they don't imitate the dirty ones? I'm TIRED OF SO MUCH LAUNDRY. I don't mind laundry from people wearing clothes. But how many outfits you need in a day? TWO. Work/School and relaxing clothes. But washing clothes because someone couldn't be bothered to put them away and little stimmer stimming and throwing them on filthy floor? Yeah, ticks me off. Makes my left eye twitch. Pretty sure that's a serial killer "tell".
Unloading dishwasher? Those things are clean. Put them away (again, see, put them away where they belong). You won't get cooties from them. I promise.
That brings me to the kitchen sink/hazardous waste gathering place. Do that one up there ^ and then rinse your dishes and put them in dishwasher. Then that disgusting smell won't build. Those gnat/fruitfly whatever things...won't hang out. Seriously. PREVENTION.
Seriously. Get me some help before I need some professional help. Or just get me a damned straightjacket and take me away so I can get some sleep.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
A little fall of rain
It's a rainy day/evening here in New Mexico--a rare one. It's not all monsoony and floody...well, it has been at times, but it's now more a gentle little fall of rain that can't hurt me now. Yeah, I totally just plagiarized one of my favorite musicals...but it is stream of consciousness writing weather with the stream of water rushing down the curbside. It is a gentle pitt-patt of rain outside that I listen to right now with the door open. It is a small chill in the air that makes my toes cool and reminds me that fall is falling all around.
I am also listening to Pandora radio..on the "soothe the savage beast" station that bounces between some of my favorites from the 80s & 90s--New Age music that I loved to listen to when the cool October rains fell all around the campus of KU, making the tree trunks dark and the large colorful leaves brighter in comparison. It soothes the savage beast inside of my beautiful son so that a peace can overtake him and allow him the rest his active body so desperately needs. I hope that his dreams are as peaceful as his face in repose.
He enjoys the gentle fall of rain as well. Was pure faerie magic to watch him skip and spin in the rain--arms outstretched so that as much of him could be touched by the light caress of water falling from the sky; his face upturned in rapturous delight as the drops kiss his impossibly long eyelashes. My delight in that was equaled only by the sound of his belly giggles as he swung on his rope in the heavier rains. His frenzy actually controlled by him--whipping himself around the tree trunk, once getting a little too close to the wading pool of water whose level was higher thanks to the blessing of rain--his little bottom getting entirely soaked dipping in, oh how he LAUGHED. I'd once heard that a child's laughter gives birth to faeries--well, there was certainly a faerie baby boom this afternoon should there be truth in that! His laugh is the caulk in the heart cracks caused by our inability to effectively communicate as often as I would like.
And now I may turn off the music and listen to nature's song....and try to keep from stealing Eponine's song. . .
I am also listening to Pandora radio..on the "soothe the savage beast" station that bounces between some of my favorites from the 80s & 90s--New Age music that I loved to listen to when the cool October rains fell all around the campus of KU, making the tree trunks dark and the large colorful leaves brighter in comparison. It soothes the savage beast inside of my beautiful son so that a peace can overtake him and allow him the rest his active body so desperately needs. I hope that his dreams are as peaceful as his face in repose.
He enjoys the gentle fall of rain as well. Was pure faerie magic to watch him skip and spin in the rain--arms outstretched so that as much of him could be touched by the light caress of water falling from the sky; his face upturned in rapturous delight as the drops kiss his impossibly long eyelashes. My delight in that was equaled only by the sound of his belly giggles as he swung on his rope in the heavier rains. His frenzy actually controlled by him--whipping himself around the tree trunk, once getting a little too close to the wading pool of water whose level was higher thanks to the blessing of rain--his little bottom getting entirely soaked dipping in, oh how he LAUGHED. I'd once heard that a child's laughter gives birth to faeries--well, there was certainly a faerie baby boom this afternoon should there be truth in that! His laugh is the caulk in the heart cracks caused by our inability to effectively communicate as often as I would like.
And now I may turn off the music and listen to nature's song....and try to keep from stealing Eponine's song. . .
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Boneless weary
Have you ever had moments in your life when you feel as if your bones have been liquified? And I don't mean that someone has given you a kiss so wonderful you wanted to melt; I mean the feeling that your body has had all it can take and your bones have just disappeared. And not in the cool way that Harry Potter's arm bone was magically removed in book 2. Just had your bones sucked right out of you where you stood and you crashed to the ground.
I have.
First time I remember it happening was for someone foolish. And I blame the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol. But when you think you are in "love" and come home to find him and all of his crap gone, and you've not yet realized he had done you a big favor, and you've been drinking, it stands (or falls) to reason.
Second time, January 3, 2009, something in my body knew before my brain allowed me to realize that I'd lost my mother forever. I still cry when I think about that because that's when everything in my life fell apart and I think that I lost more than my bones that day--I lost so much of my soul that I think I shall never, ever recover. I miss her and although I grieve so much every day, I still can't heal.
The last time was the other night. I just hate autism so much and I just can't deal with it anymore. I can't help him and I can't protect the littlest from his rages and so I fail them both. And whatever little bit of a soul I had left after January 2009 just died in me.
I have no backbone left. I can't state how I feel to people that need to know how I feel because I can't even express to them in words what needs to be seen, heard and understood. I cannot fathom how it's not obvious. Apparently I don't understand the self-absorption that would blind someone to the reality around them. I just don't. Or perhaps I am so self-absorbed, I'm the one that is blinded. I don't know. I don't know anymore and am weary of being blamed for being a "know-it-all" and a "no-it all" at the same time. I'm weary. And boneless. And soulless.
I have.
First time I remember it happening was for someone foolish. And I blame the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol. But when you think you are in "love" and come home to find him and all of his crap gone, and you've not yet realized he had done you a big favor, and you've been drinking, it stands (or falls) to reason.
Second time, January 3, 2009, something in my body knew before my brain allowed me to realize that I'd lost my mother forever. I still cry when I think about that because that's when everything in my life fell apart and I think that I lost more than my bones that day--I lost so much of my soul that I think I shall never, ever recover. I miss her and although I grieve so much every day, I still can't heal.
The last time was the other night. I just hate autism so much and I just can't deal with it anymore. I can't help him and I can't protect the littlest from his rages and so I fail them both. And whatever little bit of a soul I had left after January 2009 just died in me.
I have no backbone left. I can't state how I feel to people that need to know how I feel because I can't even express to them in words what needs to be seen, heard and understood. I cannot fathom how it's not obvious. Apparently I don't understand the self-absorption that would blind someone to the reality around them. I just don't. Or perhaps I am so self-absorbed, I'm the one that is blinded. I don't know. I don't know anymore and am weary of being blamed for being a "know-it-all" and a "no-it all" at the same time. I'm weary. And boneless. And soulless.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Autism Awareness and Poetry Appreciation
Since April is both Autism Awareness and Poetry Appreciation month, I figure maybe I'll write a poem a day--and try to have a theme going.
I found a bunch of things I used when I taught poetry and I think I will also take the opportunity to do some experimenting with my poetry writing by exploring different styles. I might even do a couple poems of the same type. Who knows what I will do. What I hope that I do is actually WRITE one poem a day. Now, these will all be rough drafts and perhaps I will revisit them and refine them. perhaps I won't....but here goes. And since I missed April 1 since I didn't THINK of it yesterday, I'll post TWO.
Autism
Unruly, unique, unbelievable, upheaval
Timid, tiresome, ticklish
Impish, incredible, indigo, imaginative, impatient
Sociallyawkward, stigma, silly scoundrel
Marvelous, moving, magnificent, misunderstood.I Wish
I wish I could see the world through his eyes
I wish I could understand his needs better—especially when he doesn’t feel well
I wish I could be sure he knows that I adore him
I wish I had more patience
I wish everyone knew his fits of laughter more than his fits
I wish there was more understanding
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
We get by with a little help from our friends. Margaritas might help too.
The following words are not mine. They are from a friend who is foraging a path through the forest of Autism that I will be travelling at some point. It was a private message to me. She has a son on the spectrum. And like all of us, she loves her son. Even when the autism doesn't make it easy. Unless you've traveled this path, please do not dare to judge. (I asked for her permission to publish this. Names have been removed to respect her wishes. Her wishes for her son to never know how she struggles because she doesn't ever want him to doubt her love for him made me think about how much I complain about my son. She humbles me for more reasons than this.) I'm going to shut up now and let her "speak"; please listen. Sometimes we need to give each other our voices too.
You know, I don't post as openly about autism on my Facebook because I never want my son to see me ranting about him when he is on FB. Stinks when they grow up. But boy, today has been a day. And, I'm betting my 17 year-old doesn't appear to be all that different from your little boy today. He is on spring break. Spring break, and all other school breaks are a nightmare for those with autism. They just screw up the routine!
He went on an impulsive eating binge while I was in the shower- marshmallows, raw carrots, chocolate cake, funions, ovaltine and milk- and then threw up. Like a toddler I might add, leaving the mess for someone else to clean up while he stormed off slamming doors and screaming. He refused to go to the psychiatrist for his appointment. He dumped chips into the dishwasher his little sister was unloading--leaving her in a fit of tears.
And now, while we wait on the in-home therapist to come and help get him checked into temporary respite care (that is the 'treatment plan' for when he creates a hostile or fearful environment in the home) he is sleeping like a baby which only makes us clench our fists and doubt ourselves for following the treatment plan.
And when it is all said and done tonight, I will have to deal with my mom and husband's mom and the brother-in-law who all sit in judgement because somehow we were responsible for his behavior and didn't handle it right. And then when we lay down to sleep we will beat ourselves up yet again for sending him away and wonder what we could have done to make it all go differently and then we'll surrender because we know we've done everything we possibly can. We'll remind ourselves that working toward long-term assisted living really is the right thing to do for him and then we'll cry ourselves to sleep because it hurts.
I am so mad right now because I want to tell this to the world, but I can't because my son might see it and he might not understand that we love him more than anything in the world even though we struggle so much with his behavior. So I share it silently with another mom who's 'been there' and try to hold my head up high
You know, I don't post as openly about autism on my Facebook because I never want my son to see me ranting about him when he is on FB. Stinks when they grow up. But boy, today has been a day. And, I'm betting my 17 year-old doesn't appear to be all that different from your little boy today. He is on spring break. Spring break, and all other school breaks are a nightmare for those with autism. They just screw up the routine!
He went on an impulsive eating binge while I was in the shower- marshmallows, raw carrots, chocolate cake, funions, ovaltine and milk- and then threw up. Like a toddler I might add, leaving the mess for someone else to clean up while he stormed off slamming doors and screaming. He refused to go to the psychiatrist for his appointment. He dumped chips into the dishwasher his little sister was unloading--leaving her in a fit of tears.
And now, while we wait on the in-home therapist to come and help get him checked into temporary respite care (that is the 'treatment plan' for when he creates a hostile or fearful environment in the home) he is sleeping like a baby which only makes us clench our fists and doubt ourselves for following the treatment plan.
And when it is all said and done tonight, I will have to deal with my mom and husband's mom and the brother-in-law who all sit in judgement because somehow we were responsible for his behavior and didn't handle it right. And then when we lay down to sleep we will beat ourselves up yet again for sending him away and wonder what we could have done to make it all go differently and then we'll surrender because we know we've done everything we possibly can. We'll remind ourselves that working toward long-term assisted living really is the right thing to do for him and then we'll cry ourselves to sleep because it hurts.
I am so mad right now because I want to tell this to the world, but I can't because my son might see it and he might not understand that we love him more than anything in the world even though we struggle so much with his behavior. So I share it silently with another mom who's 'been there' and try to hold my head up high
Friday, October 28, 2011
I have green eyes, just like you....
Apparently I once told my green eyed mother, "I have green eyes, just like you." Well, if you know me or have seen any photos of me, you know my eyes are as brown as brown can be. My eyes may not be the color green of my mother's, but they are green today for other reasons.
It's not easy for me to admit, but they are green like the green-eyed monster of jealousy. It's not pretty, but unfortunately it's true. I figure, the first step is admitting it.
I am jealous of people who don't have to constantly use pictures to communicate (or attempt to) with their child.
I am jealous of people that don't have to lock their cabinets and refrigerators because of more than the normal kid-getting-into-cabinet-and-spilling-entire-packages-0f-cereal/gatorade/rice/milk/soda/bread/mother's sanity that other people have to deal with daily.
I am jealous of people who don't have to battle to keep their children into carseats. And by battle, I mean BATTLE. As in I have wounds. Bruises, scratches, bite marks, pinches. I have yet to have a broken bone although my nose begs to differ. (And, yes, I know that my nose is cartilage. But broken cartilage can't feel much better, especially when it's on the front of your face. Oh, I forgot that my elbow, which had been fractured about 20+ years ago has swelling and brusing and could be micro-fractured again. Yep. Just because someone's sister got out of the car without him.
I am jealous of people that don't lie partially awake every night worrying that their child will again figure out how to get windows open and climb out just because the outside is so damned tempting.
I am jealous of people that get naps.
I am jealous of people who have outside assistance so that there is respite.
I am jealous of people that don't have to wipe poop off their 5 year olds on top of all of the other shit.
I am jealous of people who are stronger than I and have created a world for themselves where they provide help to others, can ask for help from others, can accept help from others and then get a home built especially for them to make their struggles easier. (yay for the family that has a home and land and are financially secure and were lucky enough to have ABC come build them an extreme home and get a Hawaiian vacation out of it.)
I am jealous of people that can pee in peace.
I am jealous of people that don't have shredded toilet paper carpeting their floors.
I am jealous of people that don't have to interrupt their selfish blogging time to clean up spilled mountain dew because I forgot to put it in the locked refrigerator.
I am jealous.
It's not easy for me to admit, but they are green like the green-eyed monster of jealousy. It's not pretty, but unfortunately it's true. I figure, the first step is admitting it.
I am jealous of people who don't have to constantly use pictures to communicate (or attempt to) with their child.
I am jealous of people that don't have to lock their cabinets and refrigerators because of more than the normal kid-getting-into-cabinet-and-spilling-entire-packages-0f-cereal/gatorade/rice/milk/soda/bread/mother's sanity that other people have to deal with daily.
I am jealous of people who don't have to battle to keep their children into carseats. And by battle, I mean BATTLE. As in I have wounds. Bruises, scratches, bite marks, pinches. I have yet to have a broken bone although my nose begs to differ. (And, yes, I know that my nose is cartilage. But broken cartilage can't feel much better, especially when it's on the front of your face. Oh, I forgot that my elbow, which had been fractured about 20+ years ago has swelling and brusing and could be micro-fractured again. Yep. Just because someone's sister got out of the car without him.
I am jealous of people that don't lie partially awake every night worrying that their child will again figure out how to get windows open and climb out just because the outside is so damned tempting.
I am jealous of people that get naps.
I am jealous of people who have outside assistance so that there is respite.
I am jealous of people that don't have to wipe poop off their 5 year olds on top of all of the other shit.
I am jealous of people who are stronger than I and have created a world for themselves where they provide help to others, can ask for help from others, can accept help from others and then get a home built especially for them to make their struggles easier. (yay for the family that has a home and land and are financially secure and were lucky enough to have ABC come build them an extreme home and get a Hawaiian vacation out of it.)
I am jealous of people that can pee in peace.
I am jealous of people that don't have shredded toilet paper carpeting their floors.
I am jealous of people that don't have to interrupt their selfish blogging time to clean up spilled mountain dew because I forgot to put it in the locked refrigerator.
I am jealous.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
A dream is a wish your heart makes. Until your Mom breaks it.
"I want to hold Mickey's hand and watch the stars!" There is just no way to convey how compelling those words were when uttered by Maggie when she was about 3 years old and Disney was running ads about dreams coming true for the millennium and a child is holding Mickey Mouse's hand and watching the fireworks. Maybe if you'd seen her wide brown eyes begging from under bangs that had needed trimming for about two months as she clasped one hand into the other in illustration of holding Mickey's you'd get it. But you weren't there and it wasn't your heart being squeezed in between those hands. I actually burst into tears and promised I would someday take her.
I looked into it, was going to take out a 401k loan to take her, but decided to use the money to move to Albuquerque that year instead. Sorry Maggie.
About a year and a half later, though......Spring Break Kindergarten for Maggie, my BFF Melissa and her son Dakota, (7 months older than Maggie) flew into Albuquerque for the 13 hour drive to LA--destination DisneyLand. It was truly a magical kingdom and fun. I had the most fun, followed by the 5 and 6 year olds, followed by the only adult in the group, Melissa. Yeah, I admit it. I acted like a giddy child. I'd never been, Melissa had been countless times, and, well, youth is wasted on the young...so I had the most fun. (I remember it all. Maggie has vague memories augmented by the 20+ rolls of film I acquired of our experiences over 5 days. 3 days in the park, 1 cold rainy-ish day at the ocean, 1 afternoon at the top of the precipice of the Grand Canyon, and then two or three days of travel, which barely count.)
At the time of the trip of a lifetime, Maggie was obsessed with Little Mermaid. I say obsessed only because it's true and she got it from me. I went to it when it first came out in theaters about 9 times. First on our agenda was to go to see Ariel. (If you've never been to Disney theme parks, the characters are live, life size (or larger) and all over! You can stand in line and see them and get photos and autographs and I'm getting excited all over again just TYPING about it!) *Deep breath--inhale slowly, exhale slowly.....* Ok, I can continue. Maggie had been working on coloring pictures to give to her idol. The photos I have from that experience are priceless. She was so excited about the experience that before falling asleep in her bed that night, she colored about 10 more pictures for Ariel. Day 2 was an opening repeat of Day 1. Ariel first. Maggie was giddy.
So because of her love of Ariel, and she was going to need a new backpack ANYHOW, I found one with Ariel on it when I was Christmas shopping. And since I had already spoiled her rotten with items from me, I thought it would be cute to give her the backpack and sign the card "Ariel". (And if anyone gets their underpants in a wad about it, there better be nothing under YOUR tree from Santa Claus.) Oh, the look of joy on her face that her friend Ariel remembered her! It was the best face ever. Too bad nobody but me got to see it. Eh, stinks to be you guys. Sorry, I was actually IN the moment rather than viewing it from behind the camera. You'll get over it. Of course, you'll never see that face again because of what happened a few years later.
She found out the truth. It took a couple of years. I don't remember when exactly she realized it. But she yells at me constantly about it. "YOU RUINED MY LIFE!" Yes, sometimes she means this because I "lied" to her about Ariel giving her that backpack. She was more upset about THIS than when she figured out Santa=me in our house too. (I wonder if she would rather think she'd been on the naughty list all of those years.)
So, in one year, I made her dreams come true and shattered them. (The shattering actually came a few years after, but hey, it doesn't sound as cool.) And I'm sure that since she just turned 15, she will utter those words again for various reasons. But I would do it again given the chance.
I looked into it, was going to take out a 401k loan to take her, but decided to use the money to move to Albuquerque that year instead. Sorry Maggie.
About a year and a half later, though......Spring Break Kindergarten for Maggie, my BFF Melissa and her son Dakota, (7 months older than Maggie) flew into Albuquerque for the 13 hour drive to LA--destination DisneyLand. It was truly a magical kingdom and fun. I had the most fun, followed by the 5 and 6 year olds, followed by the only adult in the group, Melissa. Yeah, I admit it. I acted like a giddy child. I'd never been, Melissa had been countless times, and, well, youth is wasted on the young...so I had the most fun. (I remember it all. Maggie has vague memories augmented by the 20+ rolls of film I acquired of our experiences over 5 days. 3 days in the park, 1 cold rainy-ish day at the ocean, 1 afternoon at the top of the precipice of the Grand Canyon, and then two or three days of travel, which barely count.)
At the time of the trip of a lifetime, Maggie was obsessed with Little Mermaid. I say obsessed only because it's true and she got it from me. I went to it when it first came out in theaters about 9 times. First on our agenda was to go to see Ariel. (If you've never been to Disney theme parks, the characters are live, life size (or larger) and all over! You can stand in line and see them and get photos and autographs and I'm getting excited all over again just TYPING about it!) *Deep breath--inhale slowly, exhale slowly.....* Ok, I can continue. Maggie had been working on coloring pictures to give to her idol. The photos I have from that experience are priceless. She was so excited about the experience that before falling asleep in her bed that night, she colored about 10 more pictures for Ariel. Day 2 was an opening repeat of Day 1. Ariel first. Maggie was giddy.
So because of her love of Ariel, and she was going to need a new backpack ANYHOW, I found one with Ariel on it when I was Christmas shopping. And since I had already spoiled her rotten with items from me, I thought it would be cute to give her the backpack and sign the card "Ariel". (And if anyone gets their underpants in a wad about it, there better be nothing under YOUR tree from Santa Claus.) Oh, the look of joy on her face that her friend Ariel remembered her! It was the best face ever. Too bad nobody but me got to see it. Eh, stinks to be you guys. Sorry, I was actually IN the moment rather than viewing it from behind the camera. You'll get over it. Of course, you'll never see that face again because of what happened a few years later.
She found out the truth. It took a couple of years. I don't remember when exactly she realized it. But she yells at me constantly about it. "YOU RUINED MY LIFE!" Yes, sometimes she means this because I "lied" to her about Ariel giving her that backpack. She was more upset about THIS than when she figured out Santa=me in our house too. (I wonder if she would rather think she'd been on the naughty list all of those years.)
So, in one year, I made her dreams come true and shattered them. (The shattering actually came a few years after, but hey, it doesn't sound as cool.) And I'm sure that since she just turned 15, she will utter those words again for various reasons. But I would do it again given the chance.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The Wheels on the Bus Go Round & Round....like my brain!
I don't know why Colby decided at the beginning of ESY classes that he couldn't handle riding on the bus. He did just fine for two years before that, minus the week or so that he was on the bus too long and his behavior changed and then we changed everything about the bus pick up time. At that point, he adapted and was again just fine on the bus. Mr. Mark and the assistants were great. I had no reason to believe that his ONE trip to school on the bus with the new driver would be any different. But he absolutely would not get on the bus after class that day. And thus began our ritual of going to and from school with Mom (me).
Beginning of school year this year and Mr. Ed and Ms. Carolyn came by to start the ritual of bus riding to school again. He got on and I could hear his screaming through the closed doors. I've learned to sometimes close my ears to the sound. Tatiana and I were in the yard playing around and once again it crossed my mind that I wished I could get on the bus and help them get him in his seat. I was sure he was scared and scaring the other children on the bus. But given all of the press about parents on buses that have abounded as of late (yelling at other kids, trying to help their child in the middle of a seizure, etc--all parents facing criminal charges...even the one assisting her child in the middle of a seizure...what is WRONG with THAT picture people. If she hadn't assisted that child NOT on the bus, she'd be facing neglect/abuse charges...maybe that ought to be another blog post.) I was almost ready to go back into the house. At this point, Mr. Ed (not a horse at all, a nice man) came off the bus and asked for my assistance. A couple of very sweaty, muscle cramping moments later, I told him we should just try again tomorrow and that I would take Colby to school. After taking him to school, I copied the instructions for the $115+ harness I purchased since APS department of transportation had not yet seen fit to get one as requested (and required) and gave them to Mr. Ed when I went to pick Colby up.
Next morning, tried to get his harness on Colby. He got out. Seriously started thinking that perhaps somewhere in my child's ancestry is someone named HOUDINI. We tried ONCE to get Colby in the seat without the harness. Yeah, shorter version of the day before. Ed then said his bus company had a harness and we'd try it. Yeah, that didn't work either. Ed then came up with the idea that perhaps I could ride with Colby and he would just bus me home afterwards. Yeah, that one didn't fly with his bus company bosses. At this point, Colby has just been being "bussed" to school via our personal vehicles. It's worked out ok. (Since now I'm unemployed, I have PLENTY of time to take him to and fro school.)
So, imagine my delight when his class was going to go to the pool at the University--by bus. I was happier hearing they were going to go on the city bus. I was still going to go just to help out...but then plans changed and OH JOY we were going to go on a big yellow bus. As predicted, as soon as Colby figured out that we were headed for the bus, he went berserk. Mr. Jay and I managed to manhandle him to the point where Ms. Michelle could assist. We got him kicking and screaming on the bus. As soon as I sat in the seat next to him, he stopped screaming. He did wrap his little arm around my arm and clung on for dear life. I leaned away from him to assist another student with his seatbelt and Colby started thinking I was leaving and his grip started cutting off circulation. He held onto me all the way to the pool. He wasn't very talkative and loooked pensively out the window.
An hour or so at the pool having a delightful time later we started towards the bus for the ride home. Colby held my hand and just walked right on the bus as if it were his private limousine. Maybe after a few trips he will be ready to do it without Mom. Maybe. And maybe Mom will be ready.
The next day,
Beginning of school year this year and Mr. Ed and Ms. Carolyn came by to start the ritual of bus riding to school again. He got on and I could hear his screaming through the closed doors. I've learned to sometimes close my ears to the sound. Tatiana and I were in the yard playing around and once again it crossed my mind that I wished I could get on the bus and help them get him in his seat. I was sure he was scared and scaring the other children on the bus. But given all of the press about parents on buses that have abounded as of late (yelling at other kids, trying to help their child in the middle of a seizure, etc--all parents facing criminal charges...even the one assisting her child in the middle of a seizure...what is WRONG with THAT picture people. If she hadn't assisted that child NOT on the bus, she'd be facing neglect/abuse charges...maybe that ought to be another blog post.) I was almost ready to go back into the house. At this point, Mr. Ed (not a horse at all, a nice man) came off the bus and asked for my assistance. A couple of very sweaty, muscle cramping moments later, I told him we should just try again tomorrow and that I would take Colby to school. After taking him to school, I copied the instructions for the $115+ harness I purchased since APS department of transportation had not yet seen fit to get one as requested (and required) and gave them to Mr. Ed when I went to pick Colby up.
Next morning, tried to get his harness on Colby. He got out. Seriously started thinking that perhaps somewhere in my child's ancestry is someone named HOUDINI. We tried ONCE to get Colby in the seat without the harness. Yeah, shorter version of the day before. Ed then said his bus company had a harness and we'd try it. Yeah, that didn't work either. Ed then came up with the idea that perhaps I could ride with Colby and he would just bus me home afterwards. Yeah, that one didn't fly with his bus company bosses. At this point, Colby has just been being "bussed" to school via our personal vehicles. It's worked out ok. (Since now I'm unemployed, I have PLENTY of time to take him to and fro school.)
So, imagine my delight when his class was going to go to the pool at the University--by bus. I was happier hearing they were going to go on the city bus. I was still going to go just to help out...but then plans changed and OH JOY we were going to go on a big yellow bus. As predicted, as soon as Colby figured out that we were headed for the bus, he went berserk. Mr. Jay and I managed to manhandle him to the point where Ms. Michelle could assist. We got him kicking and screaming on the bus. As soon as I sat in the seat next to him, he stopped screaming. He did wrap his little arm around my arm and clung on for dear life. I leaned away from him to assist another student with his seatbelt and Colby started thinking I was leaving and his grip started cutting off circulation. He held onto me all the way to the pool. He wasn't very talkative and loooked pensively out the window.
An hour or so at the pool having a delightful time later we started towards the bus for the ride home. Colby held my hand and just walked right on the bus as if it were his private limousine. Maybe after a few trips he will be ready to do it without Mom. Maybe. And maybe Mom will be ready.
The next day,
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
I got nothin'
I may have to resort to a little writing prompts game a friend of mine and I used to do when we were in college....pulling a word from the dictionary and writing about it. If I don't get the creative juices flowing again--)a YEAR since my last posting!?!?!), I might just explode.
It's lame and embarrassing. And I may need to do it and quickly so I don't just write about how difficult things are right now.
It's lame and embarrassing. And I may need to do it and quickly so I don't just write about how difficult things are right now.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Some days I'm not so strong
When you start out your day and you want to drown yourself in margaritas (or at least drink them until you might drown in your own drool when you pass out) at 10 a.m., it's not going to be a stellar day.
So, it starts off last night. Kids fall asleep in a configuration on my bed around which I cannot comfortably get in and rest. I grabbed a quilt and a pillow and off to the couch with me. About my beautiful couch--it needs a good shampooing. Not sure if it's cat, dog or toddler urine that I smell...or if it's the smell wafting in from outside, but it's not pleasant. But I was tired, and I didn't have toddler toes in my ribs, so I was good. And I overslept. And I had a lot of work that needed done today.
So, rushing toddlers is never fun. Add to that little equation the autism of one of them and you have a formula for disaster. Perhaps it was just self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever. But it just degraded from there. Colby's routine was pretty out of whack already. Get to daycare and he runs into his room and up to "his" loft. He does this daily. Then he's up there for awhile and then he goes to breakfast in the cafeteria with his "buddies". I've never heard this was a horrible struggle so I assume it isn't a daily issue. Well, today he didn't get his loft time. He wasn't happy about having his shoes put back on him and being taken to the cafeteria. He threw himself onto the floor while I got his chair. There were three tables in the room. One was full of children; one had two children; and one was completely empty. I took the chair to the table with two children. One of the children said, "He needs to sit over there," gesturing to the empty table. "By himself?" I questioned. [In case you aren't aware, children with autism often segregate themselves. Those typical people that love them attempt to limit the segregation.] "Yes, he is bad. He does mean things. He needs to sit over there." I kept saying in my head, "Remember, he is just a child. He is just a child." I, already still pretty tired, almost start crying for the unintentionally cruel words about the light of my life. At this point, the other child at the table says to me, "Tatiana's Mommy? Colby can sit by me." And so I did cry a little because it was so sweet of her to say so. I will also add, the other child is larger physically than Colby--no easy feat. The one willing to have this "bad acting" child sit next to her, substantially SMALLER.
At this point, Colby had decided that he didn't want to sit OR eat. Other children had decided that I needed to hear about what a horrid child Colby is. Again, "Remember, they are just children. They are just children," played through my head. I just tried to tell the children that Colby doesn't mean to act in the way that they believe is cruel and bad, he is just frustrated that he cannot say the words. And, being children, they don't understand.
Luckily, breakfast was over and they got to go outside to play. Colby loves the scooter and on it, he is happy and his laugh and his smile brighten my world better than the sun. As I left and reflected upon the morning, the cloud came over me. This type of lack of understanding is not only his present, it might very well be his future. It makes me sad. Will he have friends around him that take the time to understand him and forgive his moments of frustration? Will he be able to better communicate before the frustration sets in? If I am not there to protect him, will he still be surrounded by love to protect his gentle soul? Yes, this little bear sized boy is nothing but a gentle teddy bear with hugs that heal hurts. But it can't take away the hurts of his autism. And it makes me sad.
So, it starts off last night. Kids fall asleep in a configuration on my bed around which I cannot comfortably get in and rest. I grabbed a quilt and a pillow and off to the couch with me. About my beautiful couch--it needs a good shampooing. Not sure if it's cat, dog or toddler urine that I smell...or if it's the smell wafting in from outside, but it's not pleasant. But I was tired, and I didn't have toddler toes in my ribs, so I was good. And I overslept. And I had a lot of work that needed done today.
So, rushing toddlers is never fun. Add to that little equation the autism of one of them and you have a formula for disaster. Perhaps it was just self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever. But it just degraded from there. Colby's routine was pretty out of whack already. Get to daycare and he runs into his room and up to "his" loft. He does this daily. Then he's up there for awhile and then he goes to breakfast in the cafeteria with his "buddies". I've never heard this was a horrible struggle so I assume it isn't a daily issue. Well, today he didn't get his loft time. He wasn't happy about having his shoes put back on him and being taken to the cafeteria. He threw himself onto the floor while I got his chair. There were three tables in the room. One was full of children; one had two children; and one was completely empty. I took the chair to the table with two children. One of the children said, "He needs to sit over there," gesturing to the empty table. "By himself?" I questioned. [In case you aren't aware, children with autism often segregate themselves. Those typical people that love them attempt to limit the segregation.] "Yes, he is bad. He does mean things. He needs to sit over there." I kept saying in my head, "Remember, he is just a child. He is just a child." I, already still pretty tired, almost start crying for the unintentionally cruel words about the light of my life. At this point, the other child at the table says to me, "Tatiana's Mommy? Colby can sit by me." And so I did cry a little because it was so sweet of her to say so. I will also add, the other child is larger physically than Colby--no easy feat. The one willing to have this "bad acting" child sit next to her, substantially SMALLER.
At this point, Colby had decided that he didn't want to sit OR eat. Other children had decided that I needed to hear about what a horrid child Colby is. Again, "Remember, they are just children. They are just children," played through my head. I just tried to tell the children that Colby doesn't mean to act in the way that they believe is cruel and bad, he is just frustrated that he cannot say the words. And, being children, they don't understand.
Luckily, breakfast was over and they got to go outside to play. Colby loves the scooter and on it, he is happy and his laugh and his smile brighten my world better than the sun. As I left and reflected upon the morning, the cloud came over me. This type of lack of understanding is not only his present, it might very well be his future. It makes me sad. Will he have friends around him that take the time to understand him and forgive his moments of frustration? Will he be able to better communicate before the frustration sets in? If I am not there to protect him, will he still be surrounded by love to protect his gentle soul? Yes, this little bear sized boy is nothing but a gentle teddy bear with hugs that heal hurts. But it can't take away the hurts of his autism. And it makes me sad.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
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 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!)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, May 10, 2010
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".
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".
Sunday, May 9, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
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!
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!
Friday, May 7, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
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.
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.
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