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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
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".
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