I suppose it's time to make another list of resolutions for the upcoming new year. My list has been pretty much the same since I was 14 years old-lose weight, stop worrying, stop being afraid, blah, blah, blah. You know what? I've never kept a single damn one of them. That my friends is 21 years of breaking new year's resolutions. So here is my resolution for this year.
Fuck all resolutions.
Seriously, they're all bullshit. Does anyone ever really keep them? Here and there I've worked on a few with varying degrees of success, but I can't say I've ever went from the end of a year to the beginning of another with the sense of accomplishment that everything from my previous list had been checked off. Lose weight? I figure I fluctuate between skinny Kelly Clarkson and curvier Kelly Clarkson. I think she always looks amazing, therefore, I do too. :) As long as I don't start to look like Honey Boo Boo's long lost aunt, I'm ok. Stop worrying? Depends on what dose of anti anxiety meds I'm on at the time. Some days I'm loosey goosey, some days I'm wound so tight my head damn near explodes. Stop being afraid? That's probably not going to happen because I am a Class A chicken shit. If there's a bump in the night I hear it, and I kick Ryan to wake up to go check it out. Do you know what could be in the dark??? This girl won't be the one to find out!
That is why my New Year's Resolution is to say fuck it. I don't need the undue pressure. Of course there are certain things I'd love to see happen in 2014. I have a goal to send out copies of my book to agents. Even if I get nothing back but rejection letters I have to take that step to get it out there. I also hope to get a larger following of my blog. I'd love to reconnect with old friends. It's nice to catch up on Facebook but it's even better to see people in person. I'd also love to quit being a worrywart, but with Joshua entering middle school in the fall we all know that shit ain't happening. The only resolution I can make and have certainty that I will accomplish it is this.
I'm going to be happy.
Happy New Year everyone!!
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Here We Go Again
I constantly worry if I'm doing the parenting thing right. Having a child with autism compounds that worry. Today we had to go back to the doctor to see about trying medication (again) to help with the mood swings and the ADHD. We've been down this road before and quite honestly, it was HELL so my worry is kicked into over drive right now.
Last school year we tried two medications. One made Joshua fall asleep in class everyday and the other didn't help the mood swings, it made them 100 times worse. He would go from a sweet, lovable little guy to a raging beast in a second. He cried all the time that he hated the way the meds made him feel and we decided that it didn't matter to us if he got called down everyday in school for being fidgety or talking, we would not make him live miserable all the time. We agreed that if his grades began to suffer we would revisit the idea. Unfortunately, that is where we are right now.
The doctor assured me this medication is not a stimulant and the side effects would be minimal. I was scared to death to tell Joshua that we were going to try a new medicine. I just knew a massive meltdown was headed our way and I was prepared. I calmly explained that this new medicine wouldn't be at all like the other ones; it wouldn't make him sleepy, angry, sad, etc.
My son looked at me with those big brown eyes and said very seriously " will it make me poop rainbows? sprout wings and fly away?" And then he turned around and went back to building his tower.
My first thought was "what a little smartass!" then I was insanely proud of his quick wit. ( he totally gets that from me;) ) Overall I felt relief. With a sense of humor like that, nothing will get my boy down.
Sometimes I feel like I'm doing the parenting thing right.
Last school year we tried two medications. One made Joshua fall asleep in class everyday and the other didn't help the mood swings, it made them 100 times worse. He would go from a sweet, lovable little guy to a raging beast in a second. He cried all the time that he hated the way the meds made him feel and we decided that it didn't matter to us if he got called down everyday in school for being fidgety or talking, we would not make him live miserable all the time. We agreed that if his grades began to suffer we would revisit the idea. Unfortunately, that is where we are right now.
The doctor assured me this medication is not a stimulant and the side effects would be minimal. I was scared to death to tell Joshua that we were going to try a new medicine. I just knew a massive meltdown was headed our way and I was prepared. I calmly explained that this new medicine wouldn't be at all like the other ones; it wouldn't make him sleepy, angry, sad, etc.
My son looked at me with those big brown eyes and said very seriously " will it make me poop rainbows? sprout wings and fly away?" And then he turned around and went back to building his tower.
My first thought was "what a little smartass!" then I was insanely proud of his quick wit. ( he totally gets that from me;) ) Overall I felt relief. With a sense of humor like that, nothing will get my boy down.
Sometimes I feel like I'm doing the parenting thing right.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
The Easy Years
As I sat here tonight trying to make a new household budget, one thing kept repeating through my head.
Being an adult is total bullshit.
Seriously, this is what I was in such a damn hurry for?! There's never anything pleasant in the mailbox, just bills. Laundry is a vicious cycle of funk that never ends. The demands never stop rolling in and just when you think you're ahead of the game you get knocked flat on your ass. Work is a necessary evil. I sure as hell don't want to do it, but unless I hit the Mega Millions jackpot tonight I have no choice. It seems like there is never enough time or money and I am continually stressing myself to make it work. And it almost always does.
I'm not bitching or moaning about life. Life is wonderful. My family has everything they need and most of what they want. No one is hungry, cold, or going without. For that I am eternally grateful and feel incredibly blessed. I'm just daydreaming about a simpler time. A time when going to work meant I got to hang out with my some of my best friends at Dairy Queen, my paycheck only had to be used to put gas in my car and pay the bill for my pager (yes, I had a pager. It was electric blue and was the total shit) and I didn't have a real care in the world.
My point is I wish I hadn't taken those days for granted. You only get so much time to be carefree and every moment should be enjoyed. I'm going to save this and let my kids read it when they're teenagers and they're complaining about how hard it is to be 16, 17 or however old they are at the time. I doubt they'll learn a huge lesson from it but maybe it will make them not wish the easy years away.
Being an adult is total bullshit.
Seriously, this is what I was in such a damn hurry for?! There's never anything pleasant in the mailbox, just bills. Laundry is a vicious cycle of funk that never ends. The demands never stop rolling in and just when you think you're ahead of the game you get knocked flat on your ass. Work is a necessary evil. I sure as hell don't want to do it, but unless I hit the Mega Millions jackpot tonight I have no choice. It seems like there is never enough time or money and I am continually stressing myself to make it work. And it almost always does.
I'm not bitching or moaning about life. Life is wonderful. My family has everything they need and most of what they want. No one is hungry, cold, or going without. For that I am eternally grateful and feel incredibly blessed. I'm just daydreaming about a simpler time. A time when going to work meant I got to hang out with my some of my best friends at Dairy Queen, my paycheck only had to be used to put gas in my car and pay the bill for my pager (yes, I had a pager. It was electric blue and was the total shit) and I didn't have a real care in the world.
My point is I wish I hadn't taken those days for granted. You only get so much time to be carefree and every moment should be enjoyed. I'm going to save this and let my kids read it when they're teenagers and they're complaining about how hard it is to be 16, 17 or however old they are at the time. I doubt they'll learn a huge lesson from it but maybe it will make them not wish the easy years away.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Mom AKA "The Fun Killer"
My kid is on a roll when it comes to knocking my self esteem. One day after telling me I have "soccer mom" hair he tells me that he thinks I disapprove of fun. I'm a "fun killer". I was so shocked I was speechless! That almost never happens! Me, not fun?! I can't lie, it hurt my feelings. If I'm a fun killer what will I be called next? Will my husband call me a boner shrinker? Not that he would, but fun killer was the kid equivalent.
I don't think he meant it the way it sounded. The truth of the matter is I'm the more serious parent and Ryan is the fun one. While Ryan will body slam the kids on the bed, I'm the one screaming "watch their necks!" If they play outside I'm constantly looking out the window to see what they're doing. They scream with delight when Ryan drives on country roads and speeds down a hill so they get the drop feeling in their tummies. I, on the other hand, hang onto the oh shit handles for dear life and pray that I don't throw up all over the car. But I don't think those things make me un-fun.
I know I need to lighten up. I'm really trying. I have OCD and anxiety disorder, trying to lighten up is easier said than done. When my kids are grown I want them to look back and say they had fun with their mom. I might have to close my eyes, double up on meds and bubble wrap them in order to do it, but I'll do what needs to be done.
I don't think he meant it the way it sounded. The truth of the matter is I'm the more serious parent and Ryan is the fun one. While Ryan will body slam the kids on the bed, I'm the one screaming "watch their necks!" If they play outside I'm constantly looking out the window to see what they're doing. They scream with delight when Ryan drives on country roads and speeds down a hill so they get the drop feeling in their tummies. I, on the other hand, hang onto the oh shit handles for dear life and pray that I don't throw up all over the car. But I don't think those things make me un-fun.
I know I need to lighten up. I'm really trying. I have OCD and anxiety disorder, trying to lighten up is easier said than done. When my kids are grown I want them to look back and say they had fun with their mom. I might have to close my eyes, double up on meds and bubble wrap them in order to do it, but I'll do what needs to be done.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Out of the Mouths of Babes...
A few days ago I got brave and got over my fear of looking like big headed Charlie Brown and chopped my hair off into a pixie. I freaking love it. It makes me feel like a fucking rock star. Aside from my ears freezing I've felt pretty damn good about how it looks.
And then my kid almost ruins it.
We're driving down the road, Joshua's sitting behind me. Out of the blue he says " Mommy, from the back your hair looks like a soccer mom. But the front makes you look totally pretty."
What the hell?!?! A soccer mom??
Technically, I am a soccer mom, I have a kid who plays soccer. But I don't look like one! I don't wear mom jeans that are belted up to my boobs with my shirt tucked in down to my knees! I don't drive a minivan! I've always been super proud of the changes I make with my hair and this little observation stung a bit. The quickly added "the front makes you pretty" didn't help.
I need to have a long talk with my son about "things you don't say to women". Number one-NEVER tell her she looks fat, even is she asks and number two-Never tell her that her rocking new haircut makes her look like a soccer mom. If the boy doesn't start learning these lessons now I foresee a dateless future ahead of him.
In the meantime I'm going to dye my hair hot pink and get some visible tattoos and hope the "soccer mom" label washes off.
And then my kid almost ruins it.
We're driving down the road, Joshua's sitting behind me. Out of the blue he says " Mommy, from the back your hair looks like a soccer mom. But the front makes you look totally pretty."
What the hell?!?! A soccer mom??
Technically, I am a soccer mom, I have a kid who plays soccer. But I don't look like one! I don't wear mom jeans that are belted up to my boobs with my shirt tucked in down to my knees! I don't drive a minivan! I've always been super proud of the changes I make with my hair and this little observation stung a bit. The quickly added "the front makes you pretty" didn't help.
I need to have a long talk with my son about "things you don't say to women". Number one-NEVER tell her she looks fat, even is she asks and number two-Never tell her that her rocking new haircut makes her look like a soccer mom. If the boy doesn't start learning these lessons now I foresee a dateless future ahead of him.
In the meantime I'm going to dye my hair hot pink and get some visible tattoos and hope the "soccer mom" label washes off.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Plot Twist!
I've been down lately and I've done more than my share of bitching about it. Time to put on my big girl panties and get over it. I read a thing on Facebook the other day that said " when something in your life goes wrong yell PLOT TWIST!! and move on".
PLOT TWIST!! I've moving on!
I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Everyone we meet touches us in some way and there are no mistakes, just chances to learn and improve. I'm ready to fully embrace that and I can't wait to see what is in store for me. No more second guessing or lying around crying woe is me. Balls to the wall, baby!
I'm recommitting myself to working on my book. No more jotting down ideas on post it notes and the backs of old receipts, I will dedicate time to typing it out each night. The perfect idea for it came to me tonight and I am fully inspired. It will never get published if I don't put it out there. I will enter contests, send queries to agents, and write just about anything to get my name out there. No one's going to do it for me.
This entire time I've been searching for my mojo and it's been staring me in the damn face. Writing is my mojo. Making people laugh is my mojo. Holy shit, it's like I'm Dorothy and I just woke up back in Kansas .It makes me want to bitch slap myself for wasting time with the poor, pitiful Pearl act. That wouldn't do any good though and I really don't want to slap myself.
Now that I have had this moment of clarity I am going to lie in bed and read something that always makes inspires me:"Bossypants" by Tina Fey. I hope to one day be as funny a writer as she is. Screw the hoping, I WILL be as funny one day. Maybe more. :)
PLOT TWIST!! I've moving on!
I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Everyone we meet touches us in some way and there are no mistakes, just chances to learn and improve. I'm ready to fully embrace that and I can't wait to see what is in store for me. No more second guessing or lying around crying woe is me. Balls to the wall, baby!
I'm recommitting myself to working on my book. No more jotting down ideas on post it notes and the backs of old receipts, I will dedicate time to typing it out each night. The perfect idea for it came to me tonight and I am fully inspired. It will never get published if I don't put it out there. I will enter contests, send queries to agents, and write just about anything to get my name out there. No one's going to do it for me.
This entire time I've been searching for my mojo and it's been staring me in the damn face. Writing is my mojo. Making people laugh is my mojo. Holy shit, it's like I'm Dorothy and I just woke up back in Kansas .It makes me want to bitch slap myself for wasting time with the poor, pitiful Pearl act. That wouldn't do any good though and I really don't want to slap myself.
Now that I have had this moment of clarity I am going to lie in bed and read something that always makes inspires me:"Bossypants" by Tina Fey. I hope to one day be as funny a writer as she is. Screw the hoping, I WILL be as funny one day. Maybe more. :)
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
December 19, 2002
It's almost that time! Christmas is 22 days away but that's not what I'm talking about. Joshua's birthday is the week before Christmas. He will be eleven years old. I'm slightly freaking out about it but not because my baby is growing up.
Because it makes me feel older than shit!
I was 24 when I had Joshua. When I think back to being 24 it feels like a lifetime ago but at the same time he's grown up so fast. Faster than I would have liked. Although I insisted on as many drugs as they could give me during labor, I still remember so many details.
I was induced at 6 am on December 18th, 2002 and Joshua didn't appear until 3:02 pm on the 19th. That was 33 very long, very tiring, and very miserable hours of labor. I remember lying in bed, in absolute agony with back pain and asking my dear husband to rub my back. Bless his heart, he got right to it, then I noticed he started to slow down. Then he stopped completely. I rolled my massive body over to see what he was doing and my hand to God he stopped rubbing my back, while I was in labor with his big headed spawn, because he was watching a doughnut eating contest on tv.
A fucking doughnut eating contest! I'm told this was the first of many times in that time frame that my head began to spin like the Exorcist and profanities flew from my mouth. Maybe that's when my potty mouth was also born. I don't know. All I know is that one should never, ever, for any reason stop rubbing their laboring wife's back when she is trying to get push almost 8lbs of tiny human out of her hoo ha. (Btw, 2 years later when Natalie was born, he did much better ;) )
Another fond memory of that day was our friend Monte walking into the room while my feet were up in the stir ups and all my modesty and patience was long forgotten. I remember very clearly screaming " Get out you fucking idiot!!" while Ryan ran to the door. Poor guy. He had no clue, but you can bet your ass he hasn't entered a room without knocking since then!
The best memory of course was holding my baby boy for the first time. Nothing compares to the first time you hold your baby. December 25th is great, but December 19th will always be better. Happy early birthday, Joshua. Mommy loves you.
Because it makes me feel older than shit!
I was 24 when I had Joshua. When I think back to being 24 it feels like a lifetime ago but at the same time he's grown up so fast. Faster than I would have liked. Although I insisted on as many drugs as they could give me during labor, I still remember so many details.
I was induced at 6 am on December 18th, 2002 and Joshua didn't appear until 3:02 pm on the 19th. That was 33 very long, very tiring, and very miserable hours of labor. I remember lying in bed, in absolute agony with back pain and asking my dear husband to rub my back. Bless his heart, he got right to it, then I noticed he started to slow down. Then he stopped completely. I rolled my massive body over to see what he was doing and my hand to God he stopped rubbing my back, while I was in labor with his big headed spawn, because he was watching a doughnut eating contest on tv.
A fucking doughnut eating contest! I'm told this was the first of many times in that time frame that my head began to spin like the Exorcist and profanities flew from my mouth. Maybe that's when my potty mouth was also born. I don't know. All I know is that one should never, ever, for any reason stop rubbing their laboring wife's back when she is trying to get push almost 8lbs of tiny human out of her hoo ha. (Btw, 2 years later when Natalie was born, he did much better ;) )
Another fond memory of that day was our friend Monte walking into the room while my feet were up in the stir ups and all my modesty and patience was long forgotten. I remember very clearly screaming " Get out you fucking idiot!!" while Ryan ran to the door. Poor guy. He had no clue, but you can bet your ass he hasn't entered a room without knocking since then!
The best memory of course was holding my baby boy for the first time. Nothing compares to the first time you hold your baby. December 25th is great, but December 19th will always be better. Happy early birthday, Joshua. Mommy loves you.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
It's My Party and I'll Bitch if I Want To
Bear with me, friends. I'm having a bit of a pity party at the moment. It happens to us all at one moment or another and now it's my turn.
In the past month I've been to numerous doctors, been in some very uncomfortable positions in some very cold exam rooms, and paid co pays out the ass. For what? Not an answer or some relief from the pain that's for damn sure!! I am seriously frustrated at this point with the lack of a diagnosis and I fear this could drag out for a very long time like it did when I was sick with gall bladder issues. It took a full freaking year to be diagnosed with gallstones and I literally started to think it was all in my mind before the problem was found. I know I can be bat shit crazy, but I'm not insane!
I am truly heartbroken about the school situation. It finally felt like it was my time to complete my degree and now that it's not going to happen I'm beyond bummed out. Graduating from college has always felt like something I was supposed to do and I'm disappointed in myself that I haven't done it. I can rationalize it any way I want too; I don't need a degree to be a writer, I have a job that pays well and has good benefits, a degree is just a piece of paper, etc. But the truth is I want that damn piece of paper with my name on it and without it, I'm trapped in my current job because I have no other skills.
Another thing. I miss roller derby. I miss it so much that even though I realistically know I can't go back, I refuse to part with my skates. I just can't do it. Getting rid of them would make not going back all to real and I don't want to think about it. I miss how strong it made me feel, how powerful, and how bad ass. It was physically the hardest thing I've ever done, and there were plenty of times I cried from frustration and pain. But I still wanted to do it. I still want to do it. Unfortunately I just can't make it fit into my life. The mom guilt is just too much for me, and I'm the worst at making myself feel guilty. I need to find that "thing" that makes me feel that good about myself again. I need to find my mojo.
I know I have a shit ton of things to be grateful for and I count my blessing daily. I have not forgotten or lost sight of anything. But dammit, some days you just want to throw your head back and scream at the top of your lungs. So here it goes- "FUCK, FUCK, FUCKITY, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK IT ALL!!!!!!"
There. That's a little better. Not much, but it's a start. Night, y'all.
In the past month I've been to numerous doctors, been in some very uncomfortable positions in some very cold exam rooms, and paid co pays out the ass. For what? Not an answer or some relief from the pain that's for damn sure!! I am seriously frustrated at this point with the lack of a diagnosis and I fear this could drag out for a very long time like it did when I was sick with gall bladder issues. It took a full freaking year to be diagnosed with gallstones and I literally started to think it was all in my mind before the problem was found. I know I can be bat shit crazy, but I'm not insane!
I am truly heartbroken about the school situation. It finally felt like it was my time to complete my degree and now that it's not going to happen I'm beyond bummed out. Graduating from college has always felt like something I was supposed to do and I'm disappointed in myself that I haven't done it. I can rationalize it any way I want too; I don't need a degree to be a writer, I have a job that pays well and has good benefits, a degree is just a piece of paper, etc. But the truth is I want that damn piece of paper with my name on it and without it, I'm trapped in my current job because I have no other skills.
Another thing. I miss roller derby. I miss it so much that even though I realistically know I can't go back, I refuse to part with my skates. I just can't do it. Getting rid of them would make not going back all to real and I don't want to think about it. I miss how strong it made me feel, how powerful, and how bad ass. It was physically the hardest thing I've ever done, and there were plenty of times I cried from frustration and pain. But I still wanted to do it. I still want to do it. Unfortunately I just can't make it fit into my life. The mom guilt is just too much for me, and I'm the worst at making myself feel guilty. I need to find that "thing" that makes me feel that good about myself again. I need to find my mojo.
I know I have a shit ton of things to be grateful for and I count my blessing daily. I have not forgotten or lost sight of anything. But dammit, some days you just want to throw your head back and scream at the top of your lungs. So here it goes- "FUCK, FUCK, FUCKITY, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK IT ALL!!!!!!"
There. That's a little better. Not much, but it's a start. Night, y'all.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Gotta Keep it Even
I learned a valuable lesson yesterday when it comes to little girls. Never, ever, ever, EVER have an odd number of little girls play together. It will result in a shit storm of epic proportions.
I hate to say that. I hate it when people say "boys are easier to raise than girls" or "you don't have to worry about boys". Kids are kids, they all come with their own issues, problems, whatevers. I'm going to rate keeping a group of girls to an even number up there with teaching a boy to always lift the seat before peeing and putting it back down when he's finished. If you don't do it things become unpleasant for everyone involved. Listening to 3 little girls fuss, fight, argue and get their feelings hurt is about as much fun as falling ass first into cold toilet bowl in the middle of the night.
It started when Natalie's best friend came over to play and brought another friend with her. At first I thought, no big deal. They'll play Xbox or hang out in Nat's room and torture me with Big Time Rush or the Teen Beach Movie soundtrack. You would think that after 35 years of life and 8 years of being the mother of a girl I would know better. They didn't agree on anything as a group. Not a damn thing. What one wanted to do, the other two didn't. Someone was always getting her feelings hurt or feeling left out. And I noticed that the friend who tagged along was the one who was instigating everything. When things didn't go her way she was the first to tattle. She always started by saying " I don't mean to tattle, but.." After the 3rd time I cut her off. I had had enough and I told Natalie the girls had to go home and while her best friend is always welcome to come play, the spawn of Satan is not allowed to come back.
Should this situation ever come up again, and I'm sure it will, I will remember the lesson I learned today. And I will send them to play at someone else's house.
I hate to say that. I hate it when people say "boys are easier to raise than girls" or "you don't have to worry about boys". Kids are kids, they all come with their own issues, problems, whatevers. I'm going to rate keeping a group of girls to an even number up there with teaching a boy to always lift the seat before peeing and putting it back down when he's finished. If you don't do it things become unpleasant for everyone involved. Listening to 3 little girls fuss, fight, argue and get their feelings hurt is about as much fun as falling ass first into cold toilet bowl in the middle of the night.
It started when Natalie's best friend came over to play and brought another friend with her. At first I thought, no big deal. They'll play Xbox or hang out in Nat's room and torture me with Big Time Rush or the Teen Beach Movie soundtrack. You would think that after 35 years of life and 8 years of being the mother of a girl I would know better. They didn't agree on anything as a group. Not a damn thing. What one wanted to do, the other two didn't. Someone was always getting her feelings hurt or feeling left out. And I noticed that the friend who tagged along was the one who was instigating everything. When things didn't go her way she was the first to tattle. She always started by saying " I don't mean to tattle, but.." After the 3rd time I cut her off. I had had enough and I told Natalie the girls had to go home and while her best friend is always welcome to come play, the spawn of Satan is not allowed to come back.
Should this situation ever come up again, and I'm sure it will, I will remember the lesson I learned today. And I will send them to play at someone else's house.
Monday, November 25, 2013
I Can't Make This Stuff Up!
Let me start off by saying this post will probably have a little TMI and I'll go as easy on the details as I can. A few weeks ago I had to go to the ER. I had been in pain for about a week and the doctor at UTC and the doctor at my regular physician's office wrote my pain off rather quickly as being a kidney stone. Now, I understand that I do not have the medical expertise they do, but I do have the expertise of my own body. I knew, just knew that I had another ovarian cyst. I've had that pain many times over the years and have even had surgery to remove the little bastards and I was pretty certain another one had invaded my space. So Saturday night when I could no longer stand upright I had Ryan take me to the hospital.
Side note- if you've never experienced this type of pain, I do not wish it upon you. If I could have reached inside myself and pulled out my own ovary I would have. Guys, the best way I can describe this to you is this; grab your nuts, pull down hard, and then twist it like you were a little kid on a swing set. You know how you would twist the chains so that when you stopped twisting you would spin out of control? This is like the twisting never ends. End note.
We arrive at the ER and I get taken back fairly quickly. This gave me false hope that this would be an easy peasy, in and out visit. Obviously I'm a dumbass for thinking this. I get back into my "room"(no walls, just curtains) and get as comfy as I can on the bed. As much as the hospital sucks, the blankets they give you that feel like they're straight out of the dryer are freaking awesome. One painful iv and a glorious shot of morphine later and I'm starting to feel a little bit of relief. The drunk asshole in the space next to me is complaining because someone brought him spicy mustard instead of regular, don't these nurses know how to do their jobs?! He's on my last nerve and I'm ready to scream when the doctor comes in. I shit you not, when I read his name tag I thought I was really high.
His name was Dr. Doctor.
If I hadn't been in so much pain I would have enjoyed that little tidbit a lot more in the moment. When that is your name is there really another choice for a profession? That's a shit ton of pressure for someone to live up to! It's not like he could have been a janitor with that name. And I failed to mention that my nurse was a man who had the most magnificent head of hair I've ever seen. It was long and silver. Not gray. Silver. Like a fucking unicorn's mane. If Ryan hadn't been there to confirm everything for me I would have sworn I was hallucinating.
I'm finally at a moment where the pain has subsided, I'm comfortable and Ryan and I are trying to sleep for a bit while we wait for Dr. Doctor to come back and let us know what was going on. Then, the jackass from the bed next to me peeks between the curtain to ask if I had a cigarette.
What. the. fuck?
Who does that??? First he was bitching about mustard and now he wants a cigarette? If he had known they were giving me morphine in my iv he probably would have ripped it out of my arm. I managed to tell him no but I'm pretty sure my face was saying" Die, asshole!!"
After seven very long hours in the ER my suspicions are confirmed and I do, in fact, have a cyst. Dr. Doctor gave me an actual diagnosis and I am on my way to feeling better. I'm in no hurry to ever go to the ER again, but if I have to go, I hope it's as humorous as this trip has been.
Side note- if you've never experienced this type of pain, I do not wish it upon you. If I could have reached inside myself and pulled out my own ovary I would have. Guys, the best way I can describe this to you is this; grab your nuts, pull down hard, and then twist it like you were a little kid on a swing set. You know how you would twist the chains so that when you stopped twisting you would spin out of control? This is like the twisting never ends. End note.
We arrive at the ER and I get taken back fairly quickly. This gave me false hope that this would be an easy peasy, in and out visit. Obviously I'm a dumbass for thinking this. I get back into my "room"(no walls, just curtains) and get as comfy as I can on the bed. As much as the hospital sucks, the blankets they give you that feel like they're straight out of the dryer are freaking awesome. One painful iv and a glorious shot of morphine later and I'm starting to feel a little bit of relief. The drunk asshole in the space next to me is complaining because someone brought him spicy mustard instead of regular, don't these nurses know how to do their jobs?! He's on my last nerve and I'm ready to scream when the doctor comes in. I shit you not, when I read his name tag I thought I was really high.
His name was Dr. Doctor.
If I hadn't been in so much pain I would have enjoyed that little tidbit a lot more in the moment. When that is your name is there really another choice for a profession? That's a shit ton of pressure for someone to live up to! It's not like he could have been a janitor with that name. And I failed to mention that my nurse was a man who had the most magnificent head of hair I've ever seen. It was long and silver. Not gray. Silver. Like a fucking unicorn's mane. If Ryan hadn't been there to confirm everything for me I would have sworn I was hallucinating.
I'm finally at a moment where the pain has subsided, I'm comfortable and Ryan and I are trying to sleep for a bit while we wait for Dr. Doctor to come back and let us know what was going on. Then, the jackass from the bed next to me peeks between the curtain to ask if I had a cigarette.
What. the. fuck?
Who does that??? First he was bitching about mustard and now he wants a cigarette? If he had known they were giving me morphine in my iv he probably would have ripped it out of my arm. I managed to tell him no but I'm pretty sure my face was saying" Die, asshole!!"
After seven very long hours in the ER my suspicions are confirmed and I do, in fact, have a cyst. Dr. Doctor gave me an actual diagnosis and I am on my way to feeling better. I'm in no hurry to ever go to the ER again, but if I have to go, I hope it's as humorous as this trip has been.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Tis the Season to Burst Some Bubbles
I am having a bit of a dilemma. The kind of moral dilemma that makes me wonder if I would be a bad parent for doing what I'm thinking of doing.
I want to tell my kids there is no Santa.
Before anyone gets all judgy, hear me out. I have some very valid reasons and I think they would benefit from knowing.
My biggest reason is Joshua is almost 11 and he still talks about Santa. Having Autism puts him a few years behind other kids his age on an emotional and maturity level. He has to deal with so much on a daily basis that I don't want him to be made fun of for still believing in old St. Nick. This age can be hard enough without giving someone another reason to kick your ass.
Reason number 2. I'm sick of that fat bastard getting all the credit. Within reason I want to make all my children's Christmas wishes come true. Christmas is a magical time and to keep some of that magic I have subjected myself to bodily harm, mental anguish, and crazy bitches and shopped on Black Friday at 2 in the morning, paid on layaways for 3 months, and shelled out outrageous amounts for express shipping. All of this so on Christmas morning my babies' faces will light up and say "thanks Santa!" Hell, no! I want some of the glory!
Which brings me to my last reason. If I have to hear one more time that if me and Daddy won't buy it they'll just ask Santa, I will fucking scream. They have a lot of wants, I get that, they're kids. But the sooner they learn there are limits the better off their lives will be. Our thing has always been to try our damnedest to get the one thing they reeeeeaaaaalllly want and then some little things to fill out underneath the tree. But this year, everything is a big thing! And big doesn't mean size, I'm talking money wise. Joshua has asked for a few Lego sets that are close to $100 each. Um, no. There are enough Legos in our basement he could probably build an exact replica of the whole house! Natalie has discovered American Girl dolls and I am not even going to go there. The doll itself is $110 and the outfits and accessories are $30 and up. I refuse to spend more on doll clothes than I spend on her clothes. Also, my child the hoarder would lose the doll and all the parts to go with it within a week and that would make my head explode. Maybe when they're older and they can understand that the more expensive the item, the less items under the tree this won't be an issue. But for now we make sure they have an equal number of presents for them to unwrap so there is no bloodshed on the tree skirt.
I don't remember when I realized Santa wasn't a real person. I don't think I asked, more than likely it just passed on by like no big deal. I usually make a bigger deal out of stuff than the kids do anyway. I guess it won't hurt to let one more Christmas season go by and let them believe in Santa Claus. I'll have plenty of years for the glory later.
I want to tell my kids there is no Santa.
Before anyone gets all judgy, hear me out. I have some very valid reasons and I think they would benefit from knowing.
My biggest reason is Joshua is almost 11 and he still talks about Santa. Having Autism puts him a few years behind other kids his age on an emotional and maturity level. He has to deal with so much on a daily basis that I don't want him to be made fun of for still believing in old St. Nick. This age can be hard enough without giving someone another reason to kick your ass.
Reason number 2. I'm sick of that fat bastard getting all the credit. Within reason I want to make all my children's Christmas wishes come true. Christmas is a magical time and to keep some of that magic I have subjected myself to bodily harm, mental anguish, and crazy bitches and shopped on Black Friday at 2 in the morning, paid on layaways for 3 months, and shelled out outrageous amounts for express shipping. All of this so on Christmas morning my babies' faces will light up and say "thanks Santa!" Hell, no! I want some of the glory!
Which brings me to my last reason. If I have to hear one more time that if me and Daddy won't buy it they'll just ask Santa, I will fucking scream. They have a lot of wants, I get that, they're kids. But the sooner they learn there are limits the better off their lives will be. Our thing has always been to try our damnedest to get the one thing they reeeeeaaaaalllly want and then some little things to fill out underneath the tree. But this year, everything is a big thing! And big doesn't mean size, I'm talking money wise. Joshua has asked for a few Lego sets that are close to $100 each. Um, no. There are enough Legos in our basement he could probably build an exact replica of the whole house! Natalie has discovered American Girl dolls and I am not even going to go there. The doll itself is $110 and the outfits and accessories are $30 and up. I refuse to spend more on doll clothes than I spend on her clothes. Also, my child the hoarder would lose the doll and all the parts to go with it within a week and that would make my head explode. Maybe when they're older and they can understand that the more expensive the item, the less items under the tree this won't be an issue. But for now we make sure they have an equal number of presents for them to unwrap so there is no bloodshed on the tree skirt.
I don't remember when I realized Santa wasn't a real person. I don't think I asked, more than likely it just passed on by like no big deal. I usually make a bigger deal out of stuff than the kids do anyway. I guess it won't hurt to let one more Christmas season go by and let them believe in Santa Claus. I'll have plenty of years for the glory later.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Tales of a Holiday Geek-Chapter 2
Ahh, November. There is a chill in the air, the leaves are falling and the first of my favorite holidays is behind us. I did manage to find a Velma costume and if I do say so myself, jinkies! I looked good in it. On November 1st all the Halloween candy at the stores were marked down, Christmas music was playing on the radio and I saw an ad that proudly proclaimed that Santa would make his grand entrance at the mall on Saturday the 9th at 9 a.m. Now, I have been told that I am a "Christmasphile" and it is true. My dream is to have my house decorated in a way that would put the Griswold's to shame. But fear not! I have not forgotten about Thanksgiving. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, and all the posts I'm seeing on Facebook, here are some things I am thankful for.
1. The obvious-my family, health, happiness, shelter, etc. If you're not thankful for those things you're a massive tool.
2. My job. As much as I dislike it I am thankful I have one. It could be a lot worse and then I would have real reasons to bitch, not just ones that are funny.
3. Diet Coke, ipods, and earbuds. They make it so much easier to get through the day at said job.
4. Fat pants. You know the ones I'm talking about. You keep them hidden in the back of the closet or buried under a pile of crap in the dresser but when you dig them out and put them on, all is right with the world. And this is the time of year that it is crucial to have a good pair of fat pants!
5. Hair dye-not just because I am obsessed with changing the color to suit my mood, but because I've had gray hair since I was 16!! Gotta keep that shit covered.
6. My height- I never have to duck, I can easily hide if the need ever arises, and I can stretch out on my couch and not be cramped. Take that, growth spurt that ended at 5 feet 2 inches!
7. Reruns of "Friends". That show never gets old. Could it BE any funnier???
8. Trader Joe's Cookie Butter. Best. Stuff. Ever.
9. The fact that while my temper is short and my comebacks are quick, it really takes a lot to make me angry. I'm easily annoyed, not easily angered. Big difference.
10. Friends. I've noticed lately that most of the people I'm friends with now are people I have known forever. New friends are great, but people who not only know your history but lived it with you, are irreplaceable. I'm thankful for all of them.
Much love y'all :)
1. The obvious-my family, health, happiness, shelter, etc. If you're not thankful for those things you're a massive tool.
2. My job. As much as I dislike it I am thankful I have one. It could be a lot worse and then I would have real reasons to bitch, not just ones that are funny.
3. Diet Coke, ipods, and earbuds. They make it so much easier to get through the day at said job.
4. Fat pants. You know the ones I'm talking about. You keep them hidden in the back of the closet or buried under a pile of crap in the dresser but when you dig them out and put them on, all is right with the world. And this is the time of year that it is crucial to have a good pair of fat pants!
5. Hair dye-not just because I am obsessed with changing the color to suit my mood, but because I've had gray hair since I was 16!! Gotta keep that shit covered.
6. My height- I never have to duck, I can easily hide if the need ever arises, and I can stretch out on my couch and not be cramped. Take that, growth spurt that ended at 5 feet 2 inches!
7. Reruns of "Friends". That show never gets old. Could it BE any funnier???
8. Trader Joe's Cookie Butter. Best. Stuff. Ever.
9. The fact that while my temper is short and my comebacks are quick, it really takes a lot to make me angry. I'm easily annoyed, not easily angered. Big difference.
10. Friends. I've noticed lately that most of the people I'm friends with now are people I have known forever. New friends are great, but people who not only know your history but lived it with you, are irreplaceable. I'm thankful for all of them.
Much love y'all :)
Monday, November 4, 2013
Little Sister, The Protector
When I was pregnant with our second child and we found out we were having a girl, I was elated. It wasn't because I felt we needed a girl to complete our family. My husband and I would have been happy with two boys. I was excited for her because I always wanted a big brother. As the oldest with two younger sisters I used to dream of having an older brother who would be my protector. Natalie was going to be a very lucky girl because Joshua was going to be an awesome big brother.
He was never jealous of her, not for a minute. While I was pregnant I would touch my belly and tell Joshua that inside was his baby. She was always his baby. He called her "Natty Bit Bit" because at two years old Natalie Elizabeth was quite the mouthful. He was always ready to bring a bottle or a toy to her if she cried. He loved to snuggle and give her kisses. Joshua was great at taking care of his little sister. As they grew up it became clear that Natalie would help take care of Joshua.
Natalie never knew anything was different because to her Joshua was just "Joshie". Sure he did things that might be odd but she didn't see them that way because he had always done them. Things really changed when Joshua was in the third grade and Natalie was in first. Third grade was by far the worst year for him because that is when the bullying began. He would cry in the morning when he had to get out of the car, and he would cry every night that he didn't want to go back the next day. The time came when we had to sit down with Natalie and explain what Autism meant and what it meant for her as Joshua's sister.
We told her that some kids are really cruel and they think it's funny to tease kids who are different. Natalie is a sensitive kid, but she is tough as nails. She won't stand for anyone to get picked on. We told her she needed to look out for her big brother. If she saw him getting teased or bullied it was her job to find a grown up who could help. She even had our full permission to clobber anyone who was being mean to him. She maybe had one or two questions and that was it. She nodded her head, said ok, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she would take her new job very seriously. I'm sure that to some degree Natalie knew what to do before we even told her. They are just that close.
It has been two years since that conversation and as Joshua gets older he is beginning to take up for himself more. Natalie is never too far behind, ready to go if needed. I am so thankful for the bond they share. As long as Joshie and Natty Bit Bit have each other, everything will be fine.
He was never jealous of her, not for a minute. While I was pregnant I would touch my belly and tell Joshua that inside was his baby. She was always his baby. He called her "Natty Bit Bit" because at two years old Natalie Elizabeth was quite the mouthful. He was always ready to bring a bottle or a toy to her if she cried. He loved to snuggle and give her kisses. Joshua was great at taking care of his little sister. As they grew up it became clear that Natalie would help take care of Joshua.
Natalie never knew anything was different because to her Joshua was just "Joshie". Sure he did things that might be odd but she didn't see them that way because he had always done them. Things really changed when Joshua was in the third grade and Natalie was in first. Third grade was by far the worst year for him because that is when the bullying began. He would cry in the morning when he had to get out of the car, and he would cry every night that he didn't want to go back the next day. The time came when we had to sit down with Natalie and explain what Autism meant and what it meant for her as Joshua's sister.
We told her that some kids are really cruel and they think it's funny to tease kids who are different. Natalie is a sensitive kid, but she is tough as nails. She won't stand for anyone to get picked on. We told her she needed to look out for her big brother. If she saw him getting teased or bullied it was her job to find a grown up who could help. She even had our full permission to clobber anyone who was being mean to him. She maybe had one or two questions and that was it. She nodded her head, said ok, and I could tell from the look in her eyes that she would take her new job very seriously. I'm sure that to some degree Natalie knew what to do before we even told her. They are just that close.
It has been two years since that conversation and as Joshua gets older he is beginning to take up for himself more. Natalie is never too far behind, ready to go if needed. I am so thankful for the bond they share. As long as Joshie and Natty Bit Bit have each other, everything will be fine.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Oh Yeah, Mama's Still Got It
A very interesting thing happened to me the other night. Something so interesting and unexpected my first reaction was a big old belly laugh.
I got hit on. Not only did I get hit on, the person who did it thought I was 23!! (I have to give major props to wrinkle cream, eye gel, concealer, genetics and a really great Facebook profile pic for that one) Nevertheless, it provided this old girl with an ego boost.
Before I go any further I will say that Ryan tells me all the time that I'm beautiful and I know he means it. I appreciate all his compliments but sometimes it feels good to be noticed by others.
It started with a comment I responded to on my sister's Facebook page. Her friend commented back and also added "btw, Heather, you are a smoking hot chick. kudos." Like I said, my first reaction was to laugh. Smoking hot? Me? Cute? Yes. Hilarious? Yes. Hot? Only in August on a day with 100% humidity. My second reaction was to scroll back through the comments to see if there was another Heather. Surprisingly there was not. So I told him thanks for making an old lady's day. That is when he said I couldn't be more than 23. My head was swelling to epic proportions now. Luckily for the youngster who was showering me with sweet talk, Ryan is past the jealous stage in our relationship and was as much amused by this as I was. The poor kid was mortified when he realized I was married and was very apologetic to Ryan for hitting on me and it made the whole situation even more amusing.
Now I'm sure that had my sweet talker seen me in person that night, sitting on the couch in my sweats, no makeup and jacked up hairdo he wouldn't have thought I was smokin'. But I have to admit I felt like it. The point is everyone loves to be noticed. It makes you smile bigger, walk with your head held higher and a bit more sass in your ass. Overall, it lets you know that when you think you're getting old and raggedy, Mama's still got it.
I got hit on. Not only did I get hit on, the person who did it thought I was 23!! (I have to give major props to wrinkle cream, eye gel, concealer, genetics and a really great Facebook profile pic for that one) Nevertheless, it provided this old girl with an ego boost.
Before I go any further I will say that Ryan tells me all the time that I'm beautiful and I know he means it. I appreciate all his compliments but sometimes it feels good to be noticed by others.
It started with a comment I responded to on my sister's Facebook page. Her friend commented back and also added "btw, Heather, you are a smoking hot chick. kudos." Like I said, my first reaction was to laugh. Smoking hot? Me? Cute? Yes. Hilarious? Yes. Hot? Only in August on a day with 100% humidity. My second reaction was to scroll back through the comments to see if there was another Heather. Surprisingly there was not. So I told him thanks for making an old lady's day. That is when he said I couldn't be more than 23. My head was swelling to epic proportions now. Luckily for the youngster who was showering me with sweet talk, Ryan is past the jealous stage in our relationship and was as much amused by this as I was. The poor kid was mortified when he realized I was married and was very apologetic to Ryan for hitting on me and it made the whole situation even more amusing.
Now I'm sure that had my sweet talker seen me in person that night, sitting on the couch in my sweats, no makeup and jacked up hairdo he wouldn't have thought I was smokin'. But I have to admit I felt like it. The point is everyone loves to be noticed. It makes you smile bigger, walk with your head held higher and a bit more sass in your ass. Overall, it lets you know that when you think you're getting old and raggedy, Mama's still got it.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
You Made Me Sad, Charlie Brown!
Today was Halloween which means the first of my beloved Charlie Brown specials was on. Call me sentimental, a sap, or even pathetic, but I love me some Peanuts. Our usual routine is watching The Great Pumpkin after trick or treating is over, but this year the begging for candy has to wait until November 1st due to severe weather. To quote Joshua " That's not going to work. Halloween is October 31st, don't they know this is killing the Halloween vibe???" Anyway, because of the delay there was no hurrying home to change into jammies and hoping the DVR was set to record. At 8:00 we were in pjs, snuggled up on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn. I was blissfully happy.
Then I got a little sad.
How many more years are they going to want to do this with me? Ever since they were babies I would get cozy in the recliner with them and watch whatever holiday cartoon was on. I loved it when they were little enough that the three of us could sit in the chair together, one on each side of me. It was the best feeling. They don't remember those times, but I'll never forget them. I figure I still have at least three years of them not fighting or refusing to watch with me. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get to have them watch with me through middle school when they think everything on earth is lame, especially their parents. When they decide they have better things to do than watch uber lame and really old cartoons with their mom, I hope they will remember what a special time it was for us and how I loved sharing with them something I loved from my childhood.
Then I hope they drag their asses home, make some popcorn, and join me on the couch.
Then I got a little sad.
How many more years are they going to want to do this with me? Ever since they were babies I would get cozy in the recliner with them and watch whatever holiday cartoon was on. I loved it when they were little enough that the three of us could sit in the chair together, one on each side of me. It was the best feeling. They don't remember those times, but I'll never forget them. I figure I still have at least three years of them not fighting or refusing to watch with me. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get to have them watch with me through middle school when they think everything on earth is lame, especially their parents. When they decide they have better things to do than watch uber lame and really old cartoons with their mom, I hope they will remember what a special time it was for us and how I loved sharing with them something I loved from my childhood.
Then I hope they drag their asses home, make some popcorn, and join me on the couch.
Monday, October 28, 2013
For My Baby Sister-Now Leave Me Alone!!
This blog is being written with one purpose: to get my baby sister to stop begging me to write about her. I feel like it would only be fair to make my next blog about my other dear little sis, Stephanie, however she would more than likely kick my ass and her devious mind scares me. So, Casey Leigh, this is for you.
In my mind you will always be three years old. That is how old you were when we met and you will never be anything but the adorable little melon head with the killer ponytail. We didn't have the typical sister relationship when you were growing up but I think it worked out to our advantage. Had we lived together we wouldn't have gotten along as well as we did and I probably would have thought you were annoying. ;)
I know you think I mother you at times, but shit, I'm 13 years older than you!! We've never been able to relate to each other on the same level. I had the Smurfs, you had Rugrats. I had New Kids on the Block, you had Backstreet Boys. When you were growing up those 13 years made a huge difference and my sisterly advice came out more like mom nagging. But it was always intended with love and out of concern for you.
So here's my sisterly advice for you. NO MORE GUYS WHO WEAR SKINNY JEANS!!! For real. The last one was an asshat and you can do so much better. He was cuter than some of the other guys you've dated, but looks don't mean shit when you have the personality of a used bottle of Summer's Eve. You have your heart set on being a cop. Does it thrill me? Fuck no it doesn't! You're 3 years old!! But if that's what you want don't let anyone talk you out of it. Unless you hit the lottery you're gonna have to work for the majority of your adult life so you might as well do what makes you happy. Last of all stop caring so much about what other people think. Life is so much better when you march to your own beat and don't give a rat's ass about who doesn't like it. Once you're happy with yourself everything else will fall into place.
In conclusion when you're 80 and I'm 93 you will still be my baby sister and I will still give my opinion whether you want it or not. Now, for the love of God stop whining! Here's your blog post, so smile and be happy I wrote a nice one. Love you always melon head. :)
In my mind you will always be three years old. That is how old you were when we met and you will never be anything but the adorable little melon head with the killer ponytail. We didn't have the typical sister relationship when you were growing up but I think it worked out to our advantage. Had we lived together we wouldn't have gotten along as well as we did and I probably would have thought you were annoying. ;)
I know you think I mother you at times, but shit, I'm 13 years older than you!! We've never been able to relate to each other on the same level. I had the Smurfs, you had Rugrats. I had New Kids on the Block, you had Backstreet Boys. When you were growing up those 13 years made a huge difference and my sisterly advice came out more like mom nagging. But it was always intended with love and out of concern for you.
So here's my sisterly advice for you. NO MORE GUYS WHO WEAR SKINNY JEANS!!! For real. The last one was an asshat and you can do so much better. He was cuter than some of the other guys you've dated, but looks don't mean shit when you have the personality of a used bottle of Summer's Eve. You have your heart set on being a cop. Does it thrill me? Fuck no it doesn't! You're 3 years old!! But if that's what you want don't let anyone talk you out of it. Unless you hit the lottery you're gonna have to work for the majority of your adult life so you might as well do what makes you happy. Last of all stop caring so much about what other people think. Life is so much better when you march to your own beat and don't give a rat's ass about who doesn't like it. Once you're happy with yourself everything else will fall into place.
In conclusion when you're 80 and I'm 93 you will still be my baby sister and I will still give my opinion whether you want it or not. Now, for the love of God stop whining! Here's your blog post, so smile and be happy I wrote a nice one. Love you always melon head. :)
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Sometimes Less Really is More
I'm rarely at a loss for words. Words are kind of my thing. Writing, talking, singing(badly) etc, I usually have an answer, a witty or snarky remark, a movie quote or song lyric on the tip of my tongue ready to be fired off. So tonight needs to be marked in the history books.
I can talk about Autism and Autism awareness at length. My current goal is to write a children's book about the subject. You can imagine how shocked I was when asked by a question by an 8 year old that I was stumped. Literally stumped.
Natalie had a friend over, someone who comes over quite a bit and is a really great kid. Joshua was across the street at his friend's house and the girls and I were hanging out in the living room. They were playing Just Dance 3 and I was lying on the couch trying not to make it obvious I was dozing off. Then the little girl asked "Why does Joshua always talk about Minecraft? Why does he always want to show me what he's built? I told him I don't like Minecraft. Why does he cry if he can't play it?"
My brain was about to short circuit trying to figure out the best way to answer her. Do I go into a long, drawn out explanation about how Autism is a neurological disorder? Do I tell her that Joshua has obsessions that become all he talks about, thinks about, wants to play, and if he can't do those things he can't explain his frustration without an outburst? Do I throw out words like spectrum, Asperger's, high functioning or meltdowns? If I can't explain this to her, how in the world am I going to write a book about it??
"Do you know what Autism is?" I asked her. She shook her head no so I went on. "Well, it means Joshua does things a little differently than other people. He loves Minecraft and doesn't understand why others don't love it as much as he does. To him it is the only thing to talk about and nothing else matters." She still just looked at me. I went on and on for a few minutes about how even though he does and sees things differently than her and other kids, he is still very much like them. How different doesn't mean bad or weird.
She looked at me, thoughtfully. " So it's in his brain? Ok." And with that she went back to dancing and I went back to breathing.
A few minutes later Joshua walked through the door. "Hey, do you want to see the log ride I built in Minecraft?" he asked her. "It's like a water roller coaster!!"
She just smiled and said sure. I wish everyone in the world was as easy going about it as she was. That will only happen if we can talk about it.
I can talk about Autism and Autism awareness at length. My current goal is to write a children's book about the subject. You can imagine how shocked I was when asked by a question by an 8 year old that I was stumped. Literally stumped.
Natalie had a friend over, someone who comes over quite a bit and is a really great kid. Joshua was across the street at his friend's house and the girls and I were hanging out in the living room. They were playing Just Dance 3 and I was lying on the couch trying not to make it obvious I was dozing off. Then the little girl asked "Why does Joshua always talk about Minecraft? Why does he always want to show me what he's built? I told him I don't like Minecraft. Why does he cry if he can't play it?"
My brain was about to short circuit trying to figure out the best way to answer her. Do I go into a long, drawn out explanation about how Autism is a neurological disorder? Do I tell her that Joshua has obsessions that become all he talks about, thinks about, wants to play, and if he can't do those things he can't explain his frustration without an outburst? Do I throw out words like spectrum, Asperger's, high functioning or meltdowns? If I can't explain this to her, how in the world am I going to write a book about it??
"Do you know what Autism is?" I asked her. She shook her head no so I went on. "Well, it means Joshua does things a little differently than other people. He loves Minecraft and doesn't understand why others don't love it as much as he does. To him it is the only thing to talk about and nothing else matters." She still just looked at me. I went on and on for a few minutes about how even though he does and sees things differently than her and other kids, he is still very much like them. How different doesn't mean bad or weird.
She looked at me, thoughtfully. " So it's in his brain? Ok." And with that she went back to dancing and I went back to breathing.
A few minutes later Joshua walked through the door. "Hey, do you want to see the log ride I built in Minecraft?" he asked her. "It's like a water roller coaster!!"
She just smiled and said sure. I wish everyone in the world was as easy going about it as she was. That will only happen if we can talk about it.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
I'm Inappropriate. Who Knew??
I got scolded yesterday on Facebook. Scolded like a two year old throwing a temper tantrum. Apparently I am inappropriate and need to keep the content on my own personal page clean because children can read what I post. To that I have one thing to say.
Not my problem.
Here's my beef with the issue. The person who scolded me allows her children to read her Facebook. The post she had a problem with was a picture I shared of the oh so hot Norman Reedus in which he was wearing an apron that said "Fuck". That was it. I understand not everyone likes or uses that word but I still didn't feel as if this was the worst thing I could ever share. She left a comment that said "Girl. Keep it clean. My children read this." The thing is, I was under the impression I was friends with her on Facebook, not her children. I am not friends with kids online because I know I can be inappropriate. I do not appreciate being told to keep my page clean because of the decision she makes to let her kids read what adults are posting.
I am not taking issue with how she is raising her children. There are a lot things I shelter my kids from because I don't think they are old enough to be exposed to them. I monitor what they watch on TV, the things they look up online and the video games they play. There are some words I use in front of them that I don't think are too bad (ass, hell, damn) and there are the F bombs and such that I do not say in their presence. I'm not saying I never slip and say them. When I slammed my finger in the bathroom door and broke it the first word out of my mouth was a big, healthy "FUCK!!!". But my everyday dialogue is not straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie by any means.
I deleted her comment because looking at it made smoke come out my ears. After a few minutes of deciding what to say I sent her a private message. Private, because I do not like trying to publicly shame people. ( I do not consider this to be "shaming" her because unlike Facebook the only name on here is mine.) I told her I was sorry if my post offended her, but I am not friends with children on Facebook because I do not censor what I say. If she wanted to unfriend me I completely understood and would not take offense because I could not promise that I would not offend her in the future.
She unfriended me and truth be told, I was a little offended. Mainly because the only response I got was a swift unfriending. I would have at least given a "Hey, I see where you're coming from but this is what I need to do". If we had been having a conversation in person and her children were present, I have enough common sense to know what to say and what not to say. I do understand boundaries for Pete's sake.
My point is if you don't like what I write, by all means don't read it. I'm not going to second guess everything I say or do because one person might not like it or agree with me. If you don't want your children exposed to certain things, shield them from those things. That is your right as a parent and I have no problem with that. Just don't tell expect other people to change who they are because you don't approve.
Not my problem.
Here's my beef with the issue. The person who scolded me allows her children to read her Facebook. The post she had a problem with was a picture I shared of the oh so hot Norman Reedus in which he was wearing an apron that said "Fuck". That was it. I understand not everyone likes or uses that word but I still didn't feel as if this was the worst thing I could ever share. She left a comment that said "Girl. Keep it clean. My children read this." The thing is, I was under the impression I was friends with her on Facebook, not her children. I am not friends with kids online because I know I can be inappropriate. I do not appreciate being told to keep my page clean because of the decision she makes to let her kids read what adults are posting.
I am not taking issue with how she is raising her children. There are a lot things I shelter my kids from because I don't think they are old enough to be exposed to them. I monitor what they watch on TV, the things they look up online and the video games they play. There are some words I use in front of them that I don't think are too bad (ass, hell, damn) and there are the F bombs and such that I do not say in their presence. I'm not saying I never slip and say them. When I slammed my finger in the bathroom door and broke it the first word out of my mouth was a big, healthy "FUCK!!!". But my everyday dialogue is not straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie by any means.
I deleted her comment because looking at it made smoke come out my ears. After a few minutes of deciding what to say I sent her a private message. Private, because I do not like trying to publicly shame people. ( I do not consider this to be "shaming" her because unlike Facebook the only name on here is mine.) I told her I was sorry if my post offended her, but I am not friends with children on Facebook because I do not censor what I say. If she wanted to unfriend me I completely understood and would not take offense because I could not promise that I would not offend her in the future.
She unfriended me and truth be told, I was a little offended. Mainly because the only response I got was a swift unfriending. I would have at least given a "Hey, I see where you're coming from but this is what I need to do". If we had been having a conversation in person and her children were present, I have enough common sense to know what to say and what not to say. I do understand boundaries for Pete's sake.
My point is if you don't like what I write, by all means don't read it. I'm not going to second guess everything I say or do because one person might not like it or agree with me. If you don't want your children exposed to certain things, shield them from those things. That is your right as a parent and I have no problem with that. Just don't tell expect other people to change who they are because you don't approve.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Confessions of a Control Freak-READ IT NOW!
I'm ready to make a confession. It is something I have been told for years but tonight it bitch slapped me in the face. So here goes. I, Heather Elizabeth Glaros, am a control freak.
I'm not sure when it happened. I was never a particularly bossy person, if anything I was the person who would get bossed around. I can tell you one thing. When you notice the ugly side of yourself, it sucks. I mean it sucks big, nasty donkey balls. It's embarrassing to think that for some reason I felt like if I didn't bellow out the orders no one would know what to do. Clearly I wasn't giving people enough credit.
When the realization hit me I had two images pop into my mind. The first was me as a jackass complete with the ears and a tail. That is exactly what I felt like. The other was me as Veruca Salt, the spoiled, bossy little witch from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The image of me stomping my feet and demanding "I want a golden goose and I want it now" made me want to crawl in a hole and die. That's not who I am and is certainly not how I want to be thought of.
From now on I will try harder to loosen the choke hold I have on everything. If something doesn't get done when I think it needs to be done, no biggie. If, for example, clothes aren't folded the way I would fold them, I will not refold them. They will be fine just the way they are. If there are 14 pairs of socks laying in the floor, I will not unleash the beast and demand they be immediately picked up. Ok, I'll probably ask nicely that they be put in the hamper, but I won't turn into Mommie Dearest. There is no reason for me to believe I am the almighty and powerful and the only person who can get things done.
The best way to prove you have no control, is to get spastic and try to prove how much you do.
I'm not sure when it happened. I was never a particularly bossy person, if anything I was the person who would get bossed around. I can tell you one thing. When you notice the ugly side of yourself, it sucks. I mean it sucks big, nasty donkey balls. It's embarrassing to think that for some reason I felt like if I didn't bellow out the orders no one would know what to do. Clearly I wasn't giving people enough credit.
When the realization hit me I had two images pop into my mind. The first was me as a jackass complete with the ears and a tail. That is exactly what I felt like. The other was me as Veruca Salt, the spoiled, bossy little witch from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The image of me stomping my feet and demanding "I want a golden goose and I want it now" made me want to crawl in a hole and die. That's not who I am and is certainly not how I want to be thought of.
From now on I will try harder to loosen the choke hold I have on everything. If something doesn't get done when I think it needs to be done, no biggie. If, for example, clothes aren't folded the way I would fold them, I will not refold them. They will be fine just the way they are. If there are 14 pairs of socks laying in the floor, I will not unleash the beast and demand they be immediately picked up. Ok, I'll probably ask nicely that they be put in the hamper, but I won't turn into Mommie Dearest. There is no reason for me to believe I am the almighty and powerful and the only person who can get things done.
The best way to prove you have no control, is to get spastic and try to prove how much you do.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Tales of a Holiday Geek-Chapter 1
This is my absolute favorite time of the year. I am a holiday geek and October, November and December bring us the holiday trifecta. Halloween is a week away and I'm getting excited. I love taking my kids Trick or Treating(and later raiding their candy bags), I adore seeing little kids in their costumes (so damn cute) and the best part is Halloween brings the first of three months of Charlie Brown specials. Nothing makes my heart sing and my feet do the Snoopy dance like hearing the theme music. I thought about dressing up this year just for shits and giggles. Why not? If I'm disguised well enough I can take my own bag seeing that my 5th grader is just as tall as I am. Don't judge me.
So, we went to Halloween Express to find Natty's costume. For the 4th year in a row she insisted she wanted to be a gothic cheerleader until we get into the store and something different catches her eye. The child is distracted by all things shiny and sparkly and instead of being "Cheerless" she is now going to be Cleopatra. I knew an all black, non shiny outfit couldn't compete with the fabulousness of an Egyptian queen. Once we got her squared away I thought it would be fun to see what I might find for me.
Oh. My. God.
First off, October isn't a hot month so my costume will need a bit more material than what I saw in the store. I freeze pretty easily and I would be afraid to shiver too much for fear the girls would fall out. Second, the words "sexy", "naughty", "wicked", and "hot" are not words I would use to describe myself so I really can't see me wearing an outfit with those words in the title. I know it's Halloween and the point of dressing up is to be someone you're not, but it would take a freaking magician for me to be able to pull that off. Also, the sizes on these things say "fits up to size 12-14, model is 5'7 and weighs 115 lbs." Bitch please. There is no way in hell that costume would fit my 5'2, size 12, none of your damn business what the scale says body and look like the model. My version of reality is not that skewed. My original plan was to be Velma from Scooby Doo because I can totally relate to the nerdy vibe, or Hit Girl from Kick Ass because I already know I look good with purple hair. Didn't find a Hit Girl and the "non sexy" Velma costume only came in kid sizes. But fear not! I will not be defeated.
Fuck this. Be Yoda, I will.
So, we went to Halloween Express to find Natty's costume. For the 4th year in a row she insisted she wanted to be a gothic cheerleader until we get into the store and something different catches her eye. The child is distracted by all things shiny and sparkly and instead of being "Cheerless" she is now going to be Cleopatra. I knew an all black, non shiny outfit couldn't compete with the fabulousness of an Egyptian queen. Once we got her squared away I thought it would be fun to see what I might find for me.
Oh. My. God.
First off, October isn't a hot month so my costume will need a bit more material than what I saw in the store. I freeze pretty easily and I would be afraid to shiver too much for fear the girls would fall out. Second, the words "sexy", "naughty", "wicked", and "hot" are not words I would use to describe myself so I really can't see me wearing an outfit with those words in the title. I know it's Halloween and the point of dressing up is to be someone you're not, but it would take a freaking magician for me to be able to pull that off. Also, the sizes on these things say "fits up to size 12-14, model is 5'7 and weighs 115 lbs." Bitch please. There is no way in hell that costume would fit my 5'2, size 12, none of your damn business what the scale says body and look like the model. My version of reality is not that skewed. My original plan was to be Velma from Scooby Doo because I can totally relate to the nerdy vibe, or Hit Girl from Kick Ass because I already know I look good with purple hair. Didn't find a Hit Girl and the "non sexy" Velma costume only came in kid sizes. But fear not! I will not be defeated.
Fuck this. Be Yoda, I will.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Hedda the Grouch
I'm feeling kind of blah right now. No real reason, just feeling kind of blah and in a pissy mood. I don't like being in a bad mood so I thought maybe I would feel better to make a list of all things that irritate the hell out of me. Maybe it will help me get the grumps out of my system.
1. Morning people. It is not natural to jump out of bed when the alarm goes off the first time and be all "oh what a beautiful morning! I am so happy to leave my warm and cozy bed!" How do they do that? Really, I want to know.
2. Possums. Ok, they don't irritate me as much as they scare me, but there is no real reason for them! They're creepy, they hiss and almost made me piss my pants once when one crawled out from under my car. They're useless and I hate them.
3. Toothpaste in the sink. That's just gross. I don't want to wipe up any one else's spit, I don't care how closely related I am to them.
4. People who cook fish in the microwave at work. Seriously, the office does not have a good enough ventilation system for that kind of fuckery.
5. People who park so close you have to get in your car through the passenger side. Thanks a lot douche nozzle. If I had known you were going to do that I would have left the window down so I could at least feel a little cool and climb in Duke boy style instead of awkwardly falling across the front seat!
6.Food samples being handed out in the mall. Thank you, but I don't want to try the bourbon chicken that you're shoving in everyone's face and getting their germs all over. I don't need a side of the flu with my chicken. I'm good.
7. This one really grates my last nerve. "They're", "their", and "there" are 3 different words that have 3 different meanings. For the love of God please use them correctly. Also, you do not "conversate" you have a conversation!!
8. The Geico hump day commercial. I think I'm the only person who hates it, but I don't give a rat's ass!! That thing is horrible and my family loves it! UGH!!!!
I do feel a little better now. Doing this makes me realize that my list of things that make me smile is much, much longer and for that I am happy.
1. Morning people. It is not natural to jump out of bed when the alarm goes off the first time and be all "oh what a beautiful morning! I am so happy to leave my warm and cozy bed!" How do they do that? Really, I want to know.
2. Possums. Ok, they don't irritate me as much as they scare me, but there is no real reason for them! They're creepy, they hiss and almost made me piss my pants once when one crawled out from under my car. They're useless and I hate them.
3. Toothpaste in the sink. That's just gross. I don't want to wipe up any one else's spit, I don't care how closely related I am to them.
4. People who cook fish in the microwave at work. Seriously, the office does not have a good enough ventilation system for that kind of fuckery.
5. People who park so close you have to get in your car through the passenger side. Thanks a lot douche nozzle. If I had known you were going to do that I would have left the window down so I could at least feel a little cool and climb in Duke boy style instead of awkwardly falling across the front seat!
6.Food samples being handed out in the mall. Thank you, but I don't want to try the bourbon chicken that you're shoving in everyone's face and getting their germs all over. I don't need a side of the flu with my chicken. I'm good.
7. This one really grates my last nerve. "They're", "their", and "there" are 3 different words that have 3 different meanings. For the love of God please use them correctly. Also, you do not "conversate" you have a conversation!!
8. The Geico hump day commercial. I think I'm the only person who hates it, but I don't give a rat's ass!! That thing is horrible and my family loves it! UGH!!!!
I do feel a little better now. Doing this makes me realize that my list of things that make me smile is much, much longer and for that I am happy.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
In My Golden Years
There really is nothing quite like a backhanded compliment. What else can make you smile one second and then immediately get a WTF expression on your face? I was on the receiving end of one the other day and oh how I wanted nothing more than to cuss the old hag who gave it to me. I didn't but it made me realize something.
It must be nice to be old as shit and say whatever you want and get away with it.
I was at work, waiting for my turn at the copier and minding my own business. The old bat came up behind me and started to chit chat.
"I love the color of your hair. It's so pretty" she said.
Side note-my current hair color is Manic Panic Vampire Red. Not at all a natural shade of red but it's amazing and I rock the hell out of it. Last month it was dark brown with bright purple streaks. Normal hair is boring. Back to the story.
"Thank you," I replied
"Are you going to any Halloween parties?" she asked.
Seeing this is October I didn't think this was an odd question.
"I'd like too."
"Well you're ready for it with that hair color".
I just stared at her. I maintained my composure, made my copies and walked back to my desk while cussing the old biddy in my mind. If I was a mean and nasty person I would have suggested she could do my make up for Halloween since she looks like Bozo's grandmother but I didn't. I'm not old enough to say shitty things to people and get away with it by playing the senile card. I may be lacking a filter but at least I don't insult people to their face! (not on purpose anyway)
I think I'll start a list now of things I want to say when I'm old and can say whatever I want without repercussions. I want to get the most out of my golden years that I possibly can!
It must be nice to be old as shit and say whatever you want and get away with it.
I was at work, waiting for my turn at the copier and minding my own business. The old bat came up behind me and started to chit chat.
"I love the color of your hair. It's so pretty" she said.
Side note-my current hair color is Manic Panic Vampire Red. Not at all a natural shade of red but it's amazing and I rock the hell out of it. Last month it was dark brown with bright purple streaks. Normal hair is boring. Back to the story.
"Thank you," I replied
"Are you going to any Halloween parties?" she asked.
Seeing this is October I didn't think this was an odd question.
"I'd like too."
"Well you're ready for it with that hair color".
I just stared at her. I maintained my composure, made my copies and walked back to my desk while cussing the old biddy in my mind. If I was a mean and nasty person I would have suggested she could do my make up for Halloween since she looks like Bozo's grandmother but I didn't. I'm not old enough to say shitty things to people and get away with it by playing the senile card. I may be lacking a filter but at least I don't insult people to their face! (not on purpose anyway)
I think I'll start a list now of things I want to say when I'm old and can say whatever I want without repercussions. I want to get the most out of my golden years that I possibly can!
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Things I Don't Understand...And I'm Not Going To Try
There are some things in life I just don't understand. Most of these things I'm not even going to try and understand because I don't feel the need to torture myself and get a self induced migraine. A few of these things make me feel old, some make me feel like a bitch and the rest, well you'll see what I mean.
1. Leggings. Leggings are not pants! They're meant to be worn under skirts, dresses, tunics or other apparel long enough to cover your ass. I really don't need to see your butt crack or camel toe through your clothing!
2. Speaking of skirts and dresses. I saw a few this past weekend at the football game that left me scratching my head. For starter, how do you sit comfortably in something that short?? Seriously, had they bent over you would have seen just as much as their gynecologist. Second of all, why are you dressed like a hooker at a FOOTBALL GAME?!It looked like the ho stroll through the parking lot. You can be cute without showing all the goodies, ladies!
3. Here is something that most females love but I don't see the big deal. What is so great about Ryan Gosling and Channing Tatum? Ryan Gosling is a great actor, I'll give you that, but I don't see the what is so hot about him. Channing Tatum I just don't see the appeal at all. I actually think he's looks kind of goofy.
4. Same goes for Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. I can't bring myself to get into sparkly vampires or mommy porn. I just can't do it.
5. Duck Faces. I have never once looked at a duck and thought to myself, "now there is an animal with a sexy face". So why do girls make those faces and think it's attractive? Please help understand this one.
6. The last one for today is *drumroll please* skinny jeans on guys. What.The.Fuck. Just don't. Please. I really can't take it.
Maybe this makes me old, or a bitch, or even an old bitch but one thing I know for sure is it makes me wonder what the hell is going on!
1. Leggings. Leggings are not pants! They're meant to be worn under skirts, dresses, tunics or other apparel long enough to cover your ass. I really don't need to see your butt crack or camel toe through your clothing!
2. Speaking of skirts and dresses. I saw a few this past weekend at the football game that left me scratching my head. For starter, how do you sit comfortably in something that short?? Seriously, had they bent over you would have seen just as much as their gynecologist. Second of all, why are you dressed like a hooker at a FOOTBALL GAME?!It looked like the ho stroll through the parking lot. You can be cute without showing all the goodies, ladies!
3. Here is something that most females love but I don't see the big deal. What is so great about Ryan Gosling and Channing Tatum? Ryan Gosling is a great actor, I'll give you that, but I don't see the what is so hot about him. Channing Tatum I just don't see the appeal at all. I actually think he's looks kind of goofy.
4. Same goes for Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. I can't bring myself to get into sparkly vampires or mommy porn. I just can't do it.
5. Duck Faces. I have never once looked at a duck and thought to myself, "now there is an animal with a sexy face". So why do girls make those faces and think it's attractive? Please help understand this one.
6. The last one for today is *drumroll please* skinny jeans on guys. What.The.Fuck. Just don't. Please. I really can't take it.
Maybe this makes me old, or a bitch, or even an old bitch but one thing I know for sure is it makes me wonder what the hell is going on!
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
What Kind of Burger Am I?
One of the most stressful things about getting Joshua's Asperger's diagnosis was wondering how we were going to, if we were going to, tell him. Of course we would tell him, but when? He was 9 when after years and years of evaluations, testing and therapy sessions that we finally got an answer. Do we wait until we've had more time to absorb the information? Will he understand better if he's just a little older. We truly didn't know what to do and I was making myself sick from worry.
There is no way we would have kept this from him. Joshua's a smart kid and he was at the age where kids start being real mean asses if someone is different. He deserved to know what was going on and why he got to leave school early every week to go "play" with Angie (his occupational therapist) and once a month to go chat it up with Marc (his therapist).
One day, a few weeks after we got the official diagnosis, we were on our way home after leaving a therapy session. I don't remember exactly what we were doing or talking about but I'll never, ever forget the words that came out of Joshua's mouth.
"Mom? What kind of burger am I?"
Huh? What on Earth is he talking about?
"What do you mean, sweetie?" I asked him.
"Well, Marc said I was a burger and I wondered what kind of burger."
Our mouths hit the floor. The whole time we would be in these session and Joshua would tune us out to color or draw while the adults talked, he was listening and remembering every word we said. We never said "Aspergers" above a whisper in these meetings because we wanted time to figure out what to tell him. Joshua solved that problem for us. I said the first thing that came to mind.
"You're totally a cheeseburger."
When we got home we sat down with him and explained in our best 9 year old terms what it meant to have Asperger's and how it affects him. He would nod and listen intently and then all we got in response was "Ok. Can I play with your phone?"
That was it. The big dramatic reveal. All the weeks of wondering what to say that was making me so unnerved that I was losing sleep and my face was breaking out like I was a 13 year old boy and he has the audacity to take it in stride. Humph. The nerve.
In all seriousness I was relieved he took it so well. The last thing I wanted was for him to be upset or think this made him less than what he was. I learned something very important that day that I try my hardest to remember. If Joshua's not stressing, Momma doesn't need to stress. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.
There is no way we would have kept this from him. Joshua's a smart kid and he was at the age where kids start being real mean asses if someone is different. He deserved to know what was going on and why he got to leave school early every week to go "play" with Angie (his occupational therapist) and once a month to go chat it up with Marc (his therapist).
One day, a few weeks after we got the official diagnosis, we were on our way home after leaving a therapy session. I don't remember exactly what we were doing or talking about but I'll never, ever forget the words that came out of Joshua's mouth.
"Mom? What kind of burger am I?"
Huh? What on Earth is he talking about?
"What do you mean, sweetie?" I asked him.
"Well, Marc said I was a burger and I wondered what kind of burger."
Our mouths hit the floor. The whole time we would be in these session and Joshua would tune us out to color or draw while the adults talked, he was listening and remembering every word we said. We never said "Aspergers" above a whisper in these meetings because we wanted time to figure out what to tell him. Joshua solved that problem for us. I said the first thing that came to mind.
"You're totally a cheeseburger."
When we got home we sat down with him and explained in our best 9 year old terms what it meant to have Asperger's and how it affects him. He would nod and listen intently and then all we got in response was "Ok. Can I play with your phone?"
That was it. The big dramatic reveal. All the weeks of wondering what to say that was making me so unnerved that I was losing sleep and my face was breaking out like I was a 13 year old boy and he has the audacity to take it in stride. Humph. The nerve.
In all seriousness I was relieved he took it so well. The last thing I wanted was for him to be upset or think this made him less than what he was. I learned something very important that day that I try my hardest to remember. If Joshua's not stressing, Momma doesn't need to stress. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Life Lessons For My Children
I've learned a lot of lessons since becoming a mom. I've learned that I'm a lot tougher than I ever thought I could be. Not just from giving birth twice (36 freaking hours for the first kid. ugh) but from things I've never expected such as an Autism diagnosis and my daughter dealing with "mean girls" in the 2nd grade. I'm no longer squeamish or easily nauseated and I know the difference between the "oh shit I'm bleeding and really hurt" scream to the "my sister is annoying me and won't go away" scream without having to set foot in the room. Those are just a few of the things they have taught me, here are some things I want my children to learn from me.
1. I am teaching you right from wrong. It's up to you to remember to use it. Right now it's pretty easy because you're just 8 and 10. The real test will be when you are teenagers and not under my constant supervision. I just hope and pray that you will remember what I have taught you about right and wrong and that you practice it. When faced with that decision I want you to picture me, your loving mother who sacrificed so much for you and you decide you just can't break her heart. (I'm not Catholic but that's a healthy dose of Catholic guilt for ya) If you choose "wrong" I hope to have instilled the same fear in you my mother instilled in me and you know that you'll never do that again. I still shudder at the thought of pissing off your Mimi. That being said...
2. You get in a shit ton less trouble if you tell me the truth. I don't care what you did; robbed a bank, mugged an old woman or kicked a kitten, if you lie to me there will be hell to pay. You're still going to get punished(who could really kick a kitten???) but it won't be as severe if you fess up to what you did.
3. Be nice to people. It's really not that hard. I could give you an old southern saying such as "you attract more flies with honey than vinegar" but here's the truth. No one likes an asshole. Treat people the way you want to be treated. I am NOT telling you to be a pushover or take crap. By all means stand up for yourself. But I never want to hear that you threw the first punch. Don't start the fight, but don't let them think you won't finish it.
4.Always be true to yourself. This is a hard one. Peer pressure is a total bitch and you haven't yet reached the ages where it will get really bad. Real friends won't ask you to compromise who you are. They will love you regardless.
5. This one is especially for my baby girl. I hope you never lose your sense of style. It is uniquely Natalie and I LOVE it. You're like my own little Punky Brewster. You wear big, fake flowers in your hair, purple snow boots with sundresses, your socks never match and you always look AMAZING! I want you to always have the confidence you have now and never let anyone tell you that you don't look fabulous. I doubt that will be a problem because you're one kick ass, tough chick, but I wanted you to hear it from me. :)
6. Here's one for my boy. Asperger's sucks. We know that. But it is NOT going to get the best of you. You are without a doubt the funniest, wittiest kid I have ever met. You have kept me laughing since you were a baby. You mind has always astounded me. What 2 year old can tell you all the parts of a train? I'm not talking about the engine and caboose, I mean all the things that make it run and how they fit together. I'll never forget when you shocked the teacher at your kindergarten evaluation when you asked her if she knew what a geyser was and you proceeded to name a few and how they erupt. The social skills will come with time. You are not the problem, how people react to you is their own problem. When in doubt refer to number 3. They're assholes.
As my babies get older I'm sure I'll add to the list. I am dreading the day when I have to give advice about dating, heartbreak and all the hard stuff that comes with that age. For now, I'll just keep it simple. The only thing they really need to know is how much I love them and always will.
1. I am teaching you right from wrong. It's up to you to remember to use it. Right now it's pretty easy because you're just 8 and 10. The real test will be when you are teenagers and not under my constant supervision. I just hope and pray that you will remember what I have taught you about right and wrong and that you practice it. When faced with that decision I want you to picture me, your loving mother who sacrificed so much for you and you decide you just can't break her heart. (I'm not Catholic but that's a healthy dose of Catholic guilt for ya) If you choose "wrong" I hope to have instilled the same fear in you my mother instilled in me and you know that you'll never do that again. I still shudder at the thought of pissing off your Mimi. That being said...
2. You get in a shit ton less trouble if you tell me the truth. I don't care what you did; robbed a bank, mugged an old woman or kicked a kitten, if you lie to me there will be hell to pay. You're still going to get punished(who could really kick a kitten???) but it won't be as severe if you fess up to what you did.
3. Be nice to people. It's really not that hard. I could give you an old southern saying such as "you attract more flies with honey than vinegar" but here's the truth. No one likes an asshole. Treat people the way you want to be treated. I am NOT telling you to be a pushover or take crap. By all means stand up for yourself. But I never want to hear that you threw the first punch. Don't start the fight, but don't let them think you won't finish it.
4.Always be true to yourself. This is a hard one. Peer pressure is a total bitch and you haven't yet reached the ages where it will get really bad. Real friends won't ask you to compromise who you are. They will love you regardless.
5. This one is especially for my baby girl. I hope you never lose your sense of style. It is uniquely Natalie and I LOVE it. You're like my own little Punky Brewster. You wear big, fake flowers in your hair, purple snow boots with sundresses, your socks never match and you always look AMAZING! I want you to always have the confidence you have now and never let anyone tell you that you don't look fabulous. I doubt that will be a problem because you're one kick ass, tough chick, but I wanted you to hear it from me. :)
6. Here's one for my boy. Asperger's sucks. We know that. But it is NOT going to get the best of you. You are without a doubt the funniest, wittiest kid I have ever met. You have kept me laughing since you were a baby. You mind has always astounded me. What 2 year old can tell you all the parts of a train? I'm not talking about the engine and caboose, I mean all the things that make it run and how they fit together. I'll never forget when you shocked the teacher at your kindergarten evaluation when you asked her if she knew what a geyser was and you proceeded to name a few and how they erupt. The social skills will come with time. You are not the problem, how people react to you is their own problem. When in doubt refer to number 3. They're assholes.
As my babies get older I'm sure I'll add to the list. I am dreading the day when I have to give advice about dating, heartbreak and all the hard stuff that comes with that age. For now, I'll just keep it simple. The only thing they really need to know is how much I love them and always will.
Friday, October 11, 2013
The Mall is the Gateway to Hell!
I know I do a lot things that may not make sense. Just in the last month I adopted a dog out of a moment of weakness that has brought our total to 3, I buried a squirrel to calm down my animal loving daughter, and tonight I outdid myself. I took 3 kids to the mall. Three kids ages 6, 8, and 10. Believe me when I say it would have been easier if they were all still stroller size!!My only reason for going to the mall was I wanted to get a UK shirt to wear to the game Saturday. I parked at the closest entrance to the store I wanted to go in and thought it would be an easy peasy trip. I obviously need to quit thinking.
What is it about walking through the doors of the mall that is like entering the gates of hell? It was hot as balls in that place and I swear they do it on purpose. We barely made it in the door when suddenly 2 out of 3 kids suddenly became so thirsty you would have thought they had crossed the desert. My nephew started speaking as if he had a scratchy throat to prove his point. I called bullshit on that one because him and my daughter talked nonstop in the car and trust me, there was not a voice issue. Anyway, we made our way to the nearest water fountain because the last thing I wanted to do was try to deal with 3 kids with Cokes walking through the mall.
Once the kids drank enough water to hold over a camel we made our way through the mall. As we walked past Justice I saw Natalie get the glazed over look in her eye from all the sparkles and sequins and knew we would have to go in. Joshua actually gagged at the thought of going in the "girl store" . Here he is, standing in front of the entrance, acting like I had just asked him to scoop dog poop out of the yard with his bare hands. My nerves were unraveling at a very fast pace.
Just to fast forward through the rest of our adventure in one hour we had: 2 bathroom breaks, 1 water fountain stop, 1 stop for Cokes because I was informed water fountain water was disgusting(and I have to agree), 1 trip to the Disney store that makes me hate all things related to the mouse, a stop at the cookie counter because nothing grabs a kid's attention like a display case of baked goodness with sprinkles and finally we head back to the car all the while my nephew is complaining his feet hurt because the mall is too big to walk around! Screw the cookies, mama wants a drink!!
I do however consider this to be a successful trip as I left the mall with just as many kids as I entered with, I bought 2 new UK t shirts and most importantly, I did not flip my shit and get dragged away in a straitjacket. This record will stand for years because I am in no hurry to try and best it ;)
What is it about walking through the doors of the mall that is like entering the gates of hell? It was hot as balls in that place and I swear they do it on purpose. We barely made it in the door when suddenly 2 out of 3 kids suddenly became so thirsty you would have thought they had crossed the desert. My nephew started speaking as if he had a scratchy throat to prove his point. I called bullshit on that one because him and my daughter talked nonstop in the car and trust me, there was not a voice issue. Anyway, we made our way to the nearest water fountain because the last thing I wanted to do was try to deal with 3 kids with Cokes walking through the mall.
Once the kids drank enough water to hold over a camel we made our way through the mall. As we walked past Justice I saw Natalie get the glazed over look in her eye from all the sparkles and sequins and knew we would have to go in. Joshua actually gagged at the thought of going in the "girl store" . Here he is, standing in front of the entrance, acting like I had just asked him to scoop dog poop out of the yard with his bare hands. My nerves were unraveling at a very fast pace.
Just to fast forward through the rest of our adventure in one hour we had: 2 bathroom breaks, 1 water fountain stop, 1 stop for Cokes because I was informed water fountain water was disgusting(and I have to agree), 1 trip to the Disney store that makes me hate all things related to the mouse, a stop at the cookie counter because nothing grabs a kid's attention like a display case of baked goodness with sprinkles and finally we head back to the car all the while my nephew is complaining his feet hurt because the mall is too big to walk around! Screw the cookies, mama wants a drink!!
I do however consider this to be a successful trip as I left the mall with just as many kids as I entered with, I bought 2 new UK t shirts and most importantly, I did not flip my shit and get dragged away in a straitjacket. This record will stand for years because I am in no hurry to try and best it ;)
Be Careful Pointing Fingers
How does the saying go? When you point your finger at someone the rest are pointing back at you? I don't know if that's exactly how it goes, but you get the idea.
I have a friend who I had not spoken to in a long time. Cut her off without explanation. I justified it by playing the mad card. I created a list of reasons to be mad but I never told her. My mind can be a real tricky bitch and the more I thought these things the more I believed them. Then it hit me. I was mad at myself and it's a lot easier to be mad at someone else. You can't shut yourself out, but you can other people. It's stupid, ridiculous and overall a real jackass thing to do.
I regret it. I have for a long time but I was scared to reach out for fear she was mad at me. She had every right to be. It's really shitty to be best friends with someone for so long and then vanish.The whole time I was pointing my finger at her and blaming her for my not speaking to her, my other fingers were pointing at me and screaming" Hey!! Stop being a stubborn asshole and look in the mirror!" So I did.
I reached out in the wieniest way possible by tagging her in a picture I posted on Facebook. I had friend requested and cancelled the friend request a few times because I was afraid she'd tell me to fuck off. Thankfully she didn't. We've messaged each other and plan on calling later. I hope we can fall back into where we were but if not that's ok. I understand. I apologized but sometimes that's not enough and I get that. But I never want to lose touch again.
The next time I start pointing fingers I'm going to use my hand to slap myself instead. Maybe then I won't be such a jackass.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
It's All Mind Over Matter. I Don't Mind And You Don't Matter.
I have wasted a lot of time worrying what other people thought about me. I would seriously stress myself out over it. What, you don't like me? Why not? Was it because I'm not smart enough? Thin enough? Pretty enough? The list went on and on and on. Until one day it hit me.
I am fucking amazing and if you don't like something about me it's your problem not mine.
The most recent thing that got me thinking about this is the situation I've run into with college. Yes, it would be nice to have a degree. I've always had that as a goal. But realistically, it is not required for what I want to do. If someone thinks less of me because I don't have a degree that is their own screwed up way of thinking. I told Ryan it was important to me to have it because I want to be a good role model for the kids. All he said was "you already are". Just like when I wanted to play roller derby he said "you don't have to prove to anyone you're a bad ass, we already know you are". He's right. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I AM a bad ass.
The other epiphany I had ( I love that word, don't know why) was it takes way too much time and energy to be constantly worried about other people's opinions. Why do I care if you don't like the latest hair color I'm rockin'? Why do I care if you think the boots I so desperately want are " ugly as sin and I had better be bad so Santa won't bring them"?(that's a direct quote from Casey Withers ;) ) And why do I care about your opinion about my career, education or life in general? I've learned that people who are the biggest haters are the ones who are too chicken shit to stray away from the "normal" path. They can keep normal, I don't want any part of it.
Life is short. Be silly, be quirky, let your freak flag fly and most of all be who you are and not what you think someone else thinks you should.
<3
I am fucking amazing and if you don't like something about me it's your problem not mine.
The most recent thing that got me thinking about this is the situation I've run into with college. Yes, it would be nice to have a degree. I've always had that as a goal. But realistically, it is not required for what I want to do. If someone thinks less of me because I don't have a degree that is their own screwed up way of thinking. I told Ryan it was important to me to have it because I want to be a good role model for the kids. All he said was "you already are". Just like when I wanted to play roller derby he said "you don't have to prove to anyone you're a bad ass, we already know you are". He's right. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I AM a bad ass.
The other epiphany I had ( I love that word, don't know why) was it takes way too much time and energy to be constantly worried about other people's opinions. Why do I care if you don't like the latest hair color I'm rockin'? Why do I care if you think the boots I so desperately want are " ugly as sin and I had better be bad so Santa won't bring them"?(that's a direct quote from Casey Withers ;) ) And why do I care about your opinion about my career, education or life in general? I've learned that people who are the biggest haters are the ones who are too chicken shit to stray away from the "normal" path. They can keep normal, I don't want any part of it.
Life is short. Be silly, be quirky, let your freak flag fly and most of all be who you are and not what you think someone else thinks you should.
<3
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Curses!! Foiled Again!!
Once again in the saga of trying to get a damn bachelors degree my arch nemesis shows up and derails me. This time I thought I had the problem whipped into submission but the rotten bastard got a second wind.
Drats! I've been foiled again!
I thought this go round of trying to complete my degree was going to go smoothly. I knew it would be rough, as it's not easy to study while being the referee in the kid's grudge matches. But this time was going to be different. When I met with an advisor before classes began I was so relieved when I was told I didn't have to take college algebra. I could take Statistics(which I can't pronounce for shit) or math for liberal arts. I almost did a happy dance in the middle of the office. Woo hoo!! I was finally going to accomplish a goal I made many, many, MANY years ago.
Then today came the dreaded phone call. I called my advisor to discuss classes for the spring semester and she hit me with a freaking one-two punch. I will have to take algebra because the D I fought so hard to get at my previous school will not count toward my general education requirement. I will have to take algebra to even get into the class that will count. Here's the kick in the nuts. I worked hard for that D. I struggled, I cried, I was tutored and a D was my reward. I was so proud to pass and have that class behind me I would have stuck my paper on the fridge with a magnet. It was also the third time I had taken it and I thought third time's a charm. To be told it doesn't count hits where it hurts. There is a reason I'm a writer and not a damn mathematician. Now, the second punch.
I'm an online student at a university an hour and a half away. When I decided to go back to school I researched all my options and carefully chose what I thought was the best option for me. Being told I didn't have to take algebra was the icing on the cake. But I found out I won't be able to take all my classes online. Say what now??? Apparently there was a misunderstanding and my thought I could do everything online was wrong. So, here is where I stand so far. I have to retake a class that makes me so damn anxious I'm surprised I don't break out in hives, and I'm over an hour away from campus. What in the hell am I supposed to do???
I checked my options around here before I enrolled and didn't find what I was looking for. I feel like everything I have done up to this point has been for nothing. All the time I've spent studying when my kids wanted me to be with them, all the nights I've lost sleep and looked like hammered shit the next day, the money I've invested has all been for nothing. I even quit roller derby to go back to school. Finishing my education was a huge deciding factor in my quitting something I loved and had a strong desire to kick ass in. What now? I feel like I'm missing something by not having my degree. I know I don't need one for my career choice, but it never hurts to have it.
I'm really at a loss. I feel defeated and would love if God would drop me a sign as to what I should do. (Pssst!! Are you listening???) This may not seem like a huge deal to some people, but when you've tried so hard for so long, it hurts when it comes around and bites you in the ass. :(
Drats! I've been foiled again!
I thought this go round of trying to complete my degree was going to go smoothly. I knew it would be rough, as it's not easy to study while being the referee in the kid's grudge matches. But this time was going to be different. When I met with an advisor before classes began I was so relieved when I was told I didn't have to take college algebra. I could take Statistics(which I can't pronounce for shit) or math for liberal arts. I almost did a happy dance in the middle of the office. Woo hoo!! I was finally going to accomplish a goal I made many, many, MANY years ago.
Then today came the dreaded phone call. I called my advisor to discuss classes for the spring semester and she hit me with a freaking one-two punch. I will have to take algebra because the D I fought so hard to get at my previous school will not count toward my general education requirement. I will have to take algebra to even get into the class that will count. Here's the kick in the nuts. I worked hard for that D. I struggled, I cried, I was tutored and a D was my reward. I was so proud to pass and have that class behind me I would have stuck my paper on the fridge with a magnet. It was also the third time I had taken it and I thought third time's a charm. To be told it doesn't count hits where it hurts. There is a reason I'm a writer and not a damn mathematician. Now, the second punch.
I'm an online student at a university an hour and a half away. When I decided to go back to school I researched all my options and carefully chose what I thought was the best option for me. Being told I didn't have to take algebra was the icing on the cake. But I found out I won't be able to take all my classes online. Say what now??? Apparently there was a misunderstanding and my thought I could do everything online was wrong. So, here is where I stand so far. I have to retake a class that makes me so damn anxious I'm surprised I don't break out in hives, and I'm over an hour away from campus. What in the hell am I supposed to do???
I checked my options around here before I enrolled and didn't find what I was looking for. I feel like everything I have done up to this point has been for nothing. All the time I've spent studying when my kids wanted me to be with them, all the nights I've lost sleep and looked like hammered shit the next day, the money I've invested has all been for nothing. I even quit roller derby to go back to school. Finishing my education was a huge deciding factor in my quitting something I loved and had a strong desire to kick ass in. What now? I feel like I'm missing something by not having my degree. I know I don't need one for my career choice, but it never hurts to have it.
I'm really at a loss. I feel defeated and would love if God would drop me a sign as to what I should do. (Pssst!! Are you listening???) This may not seem like a huge deal to some people, but when you've tried so hard for so long, it hurts when it comes around and bites you in the ass. :(
Monday, October 7, 2013
Trapped in a Box
It's no secret I don't care for my job. Ok, I fucking hate it. I was "volunteered"( in other words, not given a choice) by my previous supervisors a year ago to join the newly established systems group within out department. This is not a job I would have applied for in the first place. I know dick about systems. I don't care how things work as long as they work and I don't have to fix them when they don't. I hate sitting in a cubicle like a caged monkey and I loathe the feeling of being watched. Not only that, it's boring. I'm not a boring person. I like to be loud and goofy and have fun. One of these days I'm going to stand on my desk and yell "Marco" just to see if anyone will yell "Polo". I'll start a wave around the office, or maybe I'll have spurts of random dancing, ANYTHING to break up the monotony of the day and help me maintain my sanity. I wonder if it would be frowned upon to roller skate around the office? Hmmmm...anyway. I'm only still there because I have 8 years with the company and my pay is good and 3 weeks of vacation plus bonus holidays is pretty damn sweet.
My biggest gripe with the whole situation is they keep moving my desk. I've been moved 4 times since July 2012. I've been moved across buildings, up and down floors and passed around cubicles. I hate it. The next thing you know I'll be in the fucking basement like Milton from the movie Office Space. It will just be me and my stapler. How sad is that???? I can picture it and it's not pretty.
Some of us just aren't meant to be trapped in cubicle hell all day. The way I see it if I'm going to spend 40 hours of my week somewhere I want to be doing something I love. Life is too short to not do what you're passionate about. I'm working on it and I hope an opportunity comes up soon that I can jump on. Until then if you're looking for me and I'm not in the spot I was last time, you can probably find me in the basement. :S
My biggest gripe with the whole situation is they keep moving my desk. I've been moved 4 times since July 2012. I've been moved across buildings, up and down floors and passed around cubicles. I hate it. The next thing you know I'll be in the fucking basement like Milton from the movie Office Space. It will just be me and my stapler. How sad is that???? I can picture it and it's not pretty.
Some of us just aren't meant to be trapped in cubicle hell all day. The way I see it if I'm going to spend 40 hours of my week somewhere I want to be doing something I love. Life is too short to not do what you're passionate about. I'm working on it and I hope an opportunity comes up soon that I can jump on. Until then if you're looking for me and I'm not in the spot I was last time, you can probably find me in the basement. :S
Thursday, October 3, 2013
High School is Haunting Me
I'm under a fair amount of stress these days. I don't know what in the hell possessed me to think that taking 4 classes this semester while working 40 hours a week and taking care of a family would be a wise thing to do. On a good day I can still fit in some sort of workout and these days that's mainly holding on for dear life while being dragged by a 50 pound dog while she chases all the rabbits and squirrels in the neighborhood. (Seriously. It's like a fucking forest around here with all the damn wildlife. Good cardio, though) But when I am stressed I have a recurring dream. This dream has been haunting me for years and it won't go away. 17 long years...
In my dream I'm told that I didn't actually graduate from high school.
I know, I know. That is bat shit crazy. I graduated in freakin 1996. I have my diploma(somewhere), a copy of my transcript, pics of me in my cap and gown and all the proof I need to show that I did in fact escape the halls of Bryan Station High School after 4 years. But in this dream the principal shows up at my house IN THE PRESENT DAY and tells me I didn't actually graduate and have to go back. WTF does this mean?? I didn't have a particularly traumatic high school experience. The only thing that scarred me was the inability to pass Algebra, which I swear was created by Satan himself. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to make me have this irrational dream. How would this be analyzed? Do I have unfinished business from then? Is there an incomplete algebra test floating around in limbo somewhere that is waiting to have a big fat "F" marked on it? The only regret I have from high school is that I was a huge chicken shit and was too afraid of my mom to do anything that might have gotten me into real trouble. I just can't figure out the meaning behind this.
I hope I learn how to better manage my stress. If it gets worse I might start dreaming about middle school and that was a time that really sucked ass. Let's just hope I can sleep tonight without hearing the fight song in my head and trying to push my way through the halls so I don't get a tardy. :S
In my dream I'm told that I didn't actually graduate from high school.
I know, I know. That is bat shit crazy. I graduated in freakin 1996. I have my diploma(somewhere), a copy of my transcript, pics of me in my cap and gown and all the proof I need to show that I did in fact escape the halls of Bryan Station High School after 4 years. But in this dream the principal shows up at my house IN THE PRESENT DAY and tells me I didn't actually graduate and have to go back. WTF does this mean?? I didn't have a particularly traumatic high school experience. The only thing that scarred me was the inability to pass Algebra, which I swear was created by Satan himself. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to make me have this irrational dream. How would this be analyzed? Do I have unfinished business from then? Is there an incomplete algebra test floating around in limbo somewhere that is waiting to have a big fat "F" marked on it? The only regret I have from high school is that I was a huge chicken shit and was too afraid of my mom to do anything that might have gotten me into real trouble. I just can't figure out the meaning behind this.
I hope I learn how to better manage my stress. If it gets worse I might start dreaming about middle school and that was a time that really sucked ass. Let's just hope I can sleep tonight without hearing the fight song in my head and trying to push my way through the halls so I don't get a tardy. :S
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
It's The Little Things
I don't like to be mushy. I'm not a fan of romantic comedies because of the mush factor (and predictable plots) and I'm not over the top when it comes to PDAs. But I know I've got a good thing going and I feel the need to brag.
To put it simply-Ryan is awesome. He's an awesome husband, best friend, daddy and in general a great person. He has to be or I wouldn't have spent the last 17 years with him! I love him more now than I did then and it all has to do with the little things he does that make me smile.
I posted on my Facebook status today asking if anyone would bring me a caramel frap from Starbucks. I really didn't expect anyone to take me seriously, and the last I'd heard from Ryan he wasn't even working in town. I LOVED it when 20 minutes later I got a text message telling me to come outside and get my frap before it melted. Instantly the goofiest grin ever spread across my face and I ran downstairs. I didn't run to get my drink, I ran because I knew he brought it to me just to make me smile. He always does stuff like that and he always has. These are the things that make our relationship so great. It's the small, insignificant to some, details that mean the most.
He brings me flowers for no reason other than he wants to. The flowers he gave me for our last anniversary wasn't just a bouquet he picked up at the store on his way home. He had it made just for me with my favorites-multicolored daisies and red and white roses in a purple vase. He knows that if I'm sick nothing makes me feel better than a tub of Ben and Jerry's and a trash magazine. This poor man has went with me 6 times to see Billy Currington in concert because he knows how much I love the guy,(but honestly I think he goes to make sure I don't make an ass of myself and try to jump on stage ;) ) . He would never take the last cold Diet Coke out of the fridge, and he has never had a problem buying tampons. He never tells me to shut up when I sing and he has been known to go out of his way to stop by my job to give me a much needed hug when I'm having a craptastic day.
No amount of money, no car, no house, NOTHING, is worth more than that.
To put it simply-Ryan is awesome. He's an awesome husband, best friend, daddy and in general a great person. He has to be or I wouldn't have spent the last 17 years with him! I love him more now than I did then and it all has to do with the little things he does that make me smile.
I posted on my Facebook status today asking if anyone would bring me a caramel frap from Starbucks. I really didn't expect anyone to take me seriously, and the last I'd heard from Ryan he wasn't even working in town. I LOVED it when 20 minutes later I got a text message telling me to come outside and get my frap before it melted. Instantly the goofiest grin ever spread across my face and I ran downstairs. I didn't run to get my drink, I ran because I knew he brought it to me just to make me smile. He always does stuff like that and he always has. These are the things that make our relationship so great. It's the small, insignificant to some, details that mean the most.
He brings me flowers for no reason other than he wants to. The flowers he gave me for our last anniversary wasn't just a bouquet he picked up at the store on his way home. He had it made just for me with my favorites-multicolored daisies and red and white roses in a purple vase. He knows that if I'm sick nothing makes me feel better than a tub of Ben and Jerry's and a trash magazine. This poor man has went with me 6 times to see Billy Currington in concert because he knows how much I love the guy,(but honestly I think he goes to make sure I don't make an ass of myself and try to jump on stage ;) ) . He would never take the last cold Diet Coke out of the fridge, and he has never had a problem buying tampons. He never tells me to shut up when I sing and he has been known to go out of his way to stop by my job to give me a much needed hug when I'm having a craptastic day.
No amount of money, no car, no house, NOTHING, is worth more than that.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
You Can't Pick Your Family
I had a conversation with my youngest sister tonight about family that really got to me. That side of my family(who is family only because we share DNA) can only be described as a clusterfuck. It has taken many years of soul searching, tears, therapy and medication for me to come to terms with it. My heart breaks as I watch baby sis go through the same thing. I know that all families have a certain level of dysfunction. Hell, if you don't then you're not normal, am I right??
Just because you share a family tree with someone doesn't mean you have to like or love them. Hell, there are plenty on that side whose branches I'd like to saw off. Actually I think I'd rather uproot the whole tree and start over, but anyhoo. Some things you just can't change. One thing I can say about them is they have definitely shaped part of who I am. Trust me, they didn't do it on purpose because that would have required effort on their part.
My point is, family is so much more than blood. It's the people who drop everything and run to your side if you call them at 2 a.m, no questions asked. It's the people who love all your quirks and crazy ways and don't judge you for them. Family are the ones who will call you on your bullshit and not be afraid to piss you off because they're doing it because they love you. They're the ones who fill that empty space left from the people who were "supposed" to be there and they fill it so much it overflows. The best families are the ones that are effortless, you know it's meant to be because it's easy. It feels right. If you have to force it, it's not meant to be.
Little sister, I hope this gives you some comfort. After all, you did get a kick ass big sister out of the deal. :)
Just because you share a family tree with someone doesn't mean you have to like or love them. Hell, there are plenty on that side whose branches I'd like to saw off. Actually I think I'd rather uproot the whole tree and start over, but anyhoo. Some things you just can't change. One thing I can say about them is they have definitely shaped part of who I am. Trust me, they didn't do it on purpose because that would have required effort on their part.
My point is, family is so much more than blood. It's the people who drop everything and run to your side if you call them at 2 a.m, no questions asked. It's the people who love all your quirks and crazy ways and don't judge you for them. Family are the ones who will call you on your bullshit and not be afraid to piss you off because they're doing it because they love you. They're the ones who fill that empty space left from the people who were "supposed" to be there and they fill it so much it overflows. The best families are the ones that are effortless, you know it's meant to be because it's easy. It feels right. If you have to force it, it's not meant to be.
Little sister, I hope this gives you some comfort. After all, you did get a kick ass big sister out of the deal. :)
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Dear Mom
Dear Mom,
There are days since I have become a parent when I feel the need to pick up the phone and call to say I'm sorry for all the grief I gave you when I was growing up. I had a vision today of what my children's teenage years will be like and I have to say-I'm terrified!! Mommy, I saw the future and it is scary!! Here is my long overdue apology.
For all the times it would have been easier to knock the teeth out of my smart ass mouth than hug me, thank you for not making me look like a homeless hillbilly.
For all the times I bitched and moaned about how there was nothing to eat in the house after you had just gone to the grocery and there was enough food to feed the Duggar family, thank you for not making me starve just to teach me a lesson.
For every dinner you made that I turned up my nose at and said "I'm not hungry" and later smuggled chips out of the kitchen, thank you for not cramming them down my throat.
For all the times you made sure my clothes were washed, ironed and folded and stacked neatly on my bed for me to put away, thank you for not throwing them all out the window when one week later they lay on the floor, my desk or bed and not in my dresser where you intended.
For all the times all the necessities magically appeared and I took every one of them for granted, thank you for not making them magically disappear.
And for every foot stomp, hissy fit, eye roll, overly dramatic outburst that made up ages 14-18, thank you for always loving me. At least I hope it was out of love and not because prison orange isn't your color.
Love Always,
Your apologetic and completely terrified of your grandkids becoming teenagers, Daughter
PS
Thanks for having me first because I wasn't nearly as bad as my little sister ;)
There are days since I have become a parent when I feel the need to pick up the phone and call to say I'm sorry for all the grief I gave you when I was growing up. I had a vision today of what my children's teenage years will be like and I have to say-I'm terrified!! Mommy, I saw the future and it is scary!! Here is my long overdue apology.
For all the times it would have been easier to knock the teeth out of my smart ass mouth than hug me, thank you for not making me look like a homeless hillbilly.
For all the times I bitched and moaned about how there was nothing to eat in the house after you had just gone to the grocery and there was enough food to feed the Duggar family, thank you for not making me starve just to teach me a lesson.
For every dinner you made that I turned up my nose at and said "I'm not hungry" and later smuggled chips out of the kitchen, thank you for not cramming them down my throat.
For all the times you made sure my clothes were washed, ironed and folded and stacked neatly on my bed for me to put away, thank you for not throwing them all out the window when one week later they lay on the floor, my desk or bed and not in my dresser where you intended.
For all the times all the necessities magically appeared and I took every one of them for granted, thank you for not making them magically disappear.
And for every foot stomp, hissy fit, eye roll, overly dramatic outburst that made up ages 14-18, thank you for always loving me. At least I hope it was out of love and not because prison orange isn't your color.
Love Always,
Your apologetic and completely terrified of your grandkids becoming teenagers, Daughter
PS
Thanks for having me first because I wasn't nearly as bad as my little sister ;)
Friday, September 27, 2013
8 years
Eight years. Has it really been that long? Seems like a lifetime ago. Eight years ago I started working at the place I'm still at today. My kids were babies, just 2 years old and 6 months old. I was still in my twenties. Eight years ago I still held out hope that you would change. Hope that you would try to help yourself. Hope that we could one day at the very least be friends. But you crushed my hope. You killed it. You killed yourself.
Eight years has lessened the hurt. I hope one day it will lessen the anger. I feel as if I will forever be pissed at you for being so fucking selfish. If you had been sick, or in an accident, if you had left this Earth involuntarily I wouldn't be mad. You made the choice to leave. To leave us. To leave me. To never give me the chance to get to know if you were the person I so desperately wanted you to be. I believed there was good in you. I wish you had believed it yourself.
Eight years has given me a lot of time to think. To learn. To come to terms with things. If you had lived would things have been different? I'll never know. That's the hardest part. The fact that life will go on without knowing what could have been. How can I miss something I never really had? I don't know how that's possible but I do. I haven't" missed out" on anything. There has been so much love in my life that I haven't felt empty. But there was a place for you in there.
Eight years. In another eight years I don't plan on still being at the same job I'm at now. My kids will be close to being grown up. I will be in my forties. I have a new hope for the next eight years. I hope my anger with you fades like the hurt did. From what I have learned so far, I'm sure it will.
Eight years has lessened the hurt. I hope one day it will lessen the anger. I feel as if I will forever be pissed at you for being so fucking selfish. If you had been sick, or in an accident, if you had left this Earth involuntarily I wouldn't be mad. You made the choice to leave. To leave us. To leave me. To never give me the chance to get to know if you were the person I so desperately wanted you to be. I believed there was good in you. I wish you had believed it yourself.
Eight years has given me a lot of time to think. To learn. To come to terms with things. If you had lived would things have been different? I'll never know. That's the hardest part. The fact that life will go on without knowing what could have been. How can I miss something I never really had? I don't know how that's possible but I do. I haven't" missed out" on anything. There has been so much love in my life that I haven't felt empty. But there was a place for you in there.
Eight years. In another eight years I don't plan on still being at the same job I'm at now. My kids will be close to being grown up. I will be in my forties. I have a new hope for the next eight years. I hope my anger with you fades like the hurt did. From what I have learned so far, I'm sure it will.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Things My Kids Make Me Do Part 1
Since I became a parent almost 11 years ago, there are many things I have had to do that I never thought I would ever do in my life. I have cleaned many an explosive diaper, wiped up projectile vomit, checked the closets for monsters and treated a stuffed dog like a real animal because to my son, Max IS real. I know all the words to the songs from Teen Beach Movie and all the dance moves that go with them, I have subjected myself to the madness of Legofest and just 2 weeks ago, adopted another dog (we now have 3) because Natalie insisted this dog was lonely and was meant to be a part of our family. But today, Natalie got one over on us that I NEVER saw coming.
We had a funeral for a squirrel. A random, every day, run of the mill squirrel.
Let me start by saying Natalie is like Elly Mae from "The Beverly Hillbillies". The girl has never met a critter she didn't like. She can't stand the thought of an animal being hurt, sick or lonely. That damn ASPCA commercial with Sarah Mclachlan makes her go into hysterics to where we have to change the channel whenever we hear that song.( Thanks for ruining my whole fucking day, Sarah Mclachlan!!!) I am so proud of my little girl for being so compassionate and loving, but today really took the cake.
It all began when I noticed my two smaller dogs, Molly and Delilah, tossing something around in the backyard. I knew they didn't have a toy out there and at first I thought they had a bird because they have done that in the past. When I went to check on them I saw a bushy tail and four stiff little paws sticking straight up in the air. That poor little squirrel's mouth was open as if it had tried screaming but nothing came out. Now, I'm not sure if my dogs killed it or if it was already dead and they just thought it was a chew toy. I don't care. I was royally skeeved out that they had their mouths on the dirty thing. I did what anyone in my position would do. I hollered for my husband to come outside and discard of the deceased.
Unfortunately, all the windows were open and the kids heard me yell. Natalie came flying out of the house, "what happened? is it ok?" I stepped back to try to hide the crime scene. "No, sweetie, it's dead. But daddy's going to take care of it." She tried her best to step around me, but I'm a lot quicker than I look and I managed to get her to go back inside. Ryan got an empty box out of the trash and scooped little squirrely into it, and dropped it back into the Herbie.
We went in the house and assured the kids everything was fine. Then, with so much seriousness for an 8 year old, Natalie said "Did you bury it?"
I immediately knew where this was going. "Um, no, we put it in the trash".
As I watched my baby girl's lower lip tremble and her big blue eyes fill with tears I instantly felt like the world's biggest ass. " We have to bury it" was all she would say. Each time she said it, she got louder and the crying got uglier. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. We were going to bury that squirrel and if I had to, I would make it a proper casket and headstone.
I know my dear, sweet, understanding husband thought I'd lost my ever-loving mind when I asked him to get the shovel, but he did it anyway. We can now honestly say there isn't anything he wouldn't do for his little girl. We found a place in the side yard to lay the little bugger to rest. Joshua was trying so hard to be solemn but I could see the laughter bubbling up inside him. He was also humming the funeral march. I slapped him on the shoulder to make him stop. We asked Natalie if she wanted to say a few words but all that did was start the ugly cry all over again. We ended the service and went back inside so she could grieve privately.
So now I have one more thing to add to my list of things my children have made me do. I have also learned something. Next time there is a dead animal in the yard, I won't yell so loudly!!
We had a funeral for a squirrel. A random, every day, run of the mill squirrel.
Let me start by saying Natalie is like Elly Mae from "The Beverly Hillbillies". The girl has never met a critter she didn't like. She can't stand the thought of an animal being hurt, sick or lonely. That damn ASPCA commercial with Sarah Mclachlan makes her go into hysterics to where we have to change the channel whenever we hear that song.( Thanks for ruining my whole fucking day, Sarah Mclachlan!!!) I am so proud of my little girl for being so compassionate and loving, but today really took the cake.
It all began when I noticed my two smaller dogs, Molly and Delilah, tossing something around in the backyard. I knew they didn't have a toy out there and at first I thought they had a bird because they have done that in the past. When I went to check on them I saw a bushy tail and four stiff little paws sticking straight up in the air. That poor little squirrel's mouth was open as if it had tried screaming but nothing came out. Now, I'm not sure if my dogs killed it or if it was already dead and they just thought it was a chew toy. I don't care. I was royally skeeved out that they had their mouths on the dirty thing. I did what anyone in my position would do. I hollered for my husband to come outside and discard of the deceased.
Unfortunately, all the windows were open and the kids heard me yell. Natalie came flying out of the house, "what happened? is it ok?" I stepped back to try to hide the crime scene. "No, sweetie, it's dead. But daddy's going to take care of it." She tried her best to step around me, but I'm a lot quicker than I look and I managed to get her to go back inside. Ryan got an empty box out of the trash and scooped little squirrely into it, and dropped it back into the Herbie.
We went in the house and assured the kids everything was fine. Then, with so much seriousness for an 8 year old, Natalie said "Did you bury it?"
I immediately knew where this was going. "Um, no, we put it in the trash".
As I watched my baby girl's lower lip tremble and her big blue eyes fill with tears I instantly felt like the world's biggest ass. " We have to bury it" was all she would say. Each time she said it, she got louder and the crying got uglier. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. We were going to bury that squirrel and if I had to, I would make it a proper casket and headstone.
I know my dear, sweet, understanding husband thought I'd lost my ever-loving mind when I asked him to get the shovel, but he did it anyway. We can now honestly say there isn't anything he wouldn't do for his little girl. We found a place in the side yard to lay the little bugger to rest. Joshua was trying so hard to be solemn but I could see the laughter bubbling up inside him. He was also humming the funeral march. I slapped him on the shoulder to make him stop. We asked Natalie if she wanted to say a few words but all that did was start the ugly cry all over again. We ended the service and went back inside so she could grieve privately.
So now I have one more thing to add to my list of things my children have made me do. I have also learned something. Next time there is a dead animal in the yard, I won't yell so loudly!!
Friday, September 20, 2013
Autism Is Not a Four Letter Word
I remember when we got Joshua's diagnosis. It was a long, daunting process that had taken almost four years. The first time we had him evaluated he was four years old and in his last year of preschool. We were told he was just too smart for his age and was bored. That was the reason for his outbursts and "quirky" habits. Jump forward two years to the first grade and nothing has changed. In fact, it has gotten worse. So we go through the whole process again to get the same answer. He's just too smart for his own good. This had now become unacceptable. Finally, at the end of his second grade year we got the answer. Asperger's Syndrome, or as it would be called now, high functioning autism. Even though I was familiar with Asperger's and had a mom's intuition this is what was going on with my boy, it still felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Now that we had a diagnosis, what do we do? Who do we tell? My husband and I decided that beyond telling family, it would be on a need to know basis. We quickly found out that everyone who had regular contact with Joshua needed to know. Friends, teachers, karate instructors, parents of his friends, every single person who we trusted with our son had to know. It was the only way they would know what to do to help him. We were not in any way, shape or form embarrassed by autism. It was more of a way to protect Joshua. We didn't think autism was a "dirty word" but we didn't want him to be labeled or thought of differently. My biggest fear was that once that word was attached to my son that would be all anyone would be able to see. An autistic child, who can't do this and can't do that. What he CAN do far outweighs anything he CAN'T do. Fortunately, that has never happened. All the people who know and love Joshua still see him as just Joshua. Children with autism are so much more than just a diagnosis. They are loving, intelligent, creative, and above all they are people. Autism is nothing to be ashamed of and I hope that by sharing our stories more people will be accepting of it.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Dumbass, Table For One
I'm used to embarrassing myself. I was born without a sense of balance and an overall lack of grace, I frequently put my foot in my mouth because the part of the brain that screams "SHUT UP" doesn't work, and most of the time you can tell what I've eaten during the day because I end up wearing it. (Wearing white scares the bejesus out of me, btw. Much too easy for my shirt to end up looking like a preschooler's finger painting.) Anyhoo. It's gotten to the point where I just don't care anymore. Not only because I know what I'm capable of, but I figure once you've had kids all sense of shame goes straight down the toilet anyway. But today, I really embarrassed myself. When I do something, I go big or go home.
I was super excited because I saw that an Autism blog I had been reading was looking for guest bloggers. I'm looking for any opportunity I can do to do 2 things- 1:promote my writing on as many blogs and websites as possible and 2:promote Autism acceptance and share our story to help others. I thought this would be perfect. So last night after I finished studying and I was so tired I could barely hold my eyes open and I thought it would take a sandblaster to remove my contact lenses, I emailed my blog submission. I could hardly wait until the morning to see if I got a response.
When I saw the response in my inbox I was PSYCHED!! I clicked on it and read " thank you for your submission. We loved your post, however we try to keep this blog family friendly and we are concerned with some of the language you used..." Say what? I was so confused. I thought for a minute to try and figure out what was offensive in my post " Autism Is.." I couldn't think of a thing, so I read my original email and it hit me. I HAD SENT THE WRONG POST!! Omg, I just sent these people my post "These Are A Few of My Favorite Things" which talked about my fondness for the words "fuck and "asshat".
I felt like a fucking asshat.
I immediately sent an apology and explained that I would never intentionally submit that particular post. If they could have seen my face, it was surely as red as my hair. I'm surprised I didn't bruise my forehead from the massive facepalm I gave myself. I can honestly say for the first time in forever I was embarrassed.
Luckily, though, our little tale of woe has a happy ending. They accepted my next submission and posted it on their website. And my mortifying moment actually inspired the blog I sent them. "Autism Is Not A Four Letter Word". You can check it out on www.nsvar.org. This is a wonderful organization that helps people in Virginia find the resources they need for autism treatments and therapies.
So now, I am going to get off the computer for the night. I'm getting tired and as I proved today, I have the tendency to make a total jackass of myself when I get sleepy. :)
I was super excited because I saw that an Autism blog I had been reading was looking for guest bloggers. I'm looking for any opportunity I can do to do 2 things- 1:promote my writing on as many blogs and websites as possible and 2:promote Autism acceptance and share our story to help others. I thought this would be perfect. So last night after I finished studying and I was so tired I could barely hold my eyes open and I thought it would take a sandblaster to remove my contact lenses, I emailed my blog submission. I could hardly wait until the morning to see if I got a response.
When I saw the response in my inbox I was PSYCHED!! I clicked on it and read " thank you for your submission. We loved your post, however we try to keep this blog family friendly and we are concerned with some of the language you used..." Say what? I was so confused. I thought for a minute to try and figure out what was offensive in my post " Autism Is.." I couldn't think of a thing, so I read my original email and it hit me. I HAD SENT THE WRONG POST!! Omg, I just sent these people my post "These Are A Few of My Favorite Things" which talked about my fondness for the words "fuck and "asshat".
I felt like a fucking asshat.
I immediately sent an apology and explained that I would never intentionally submit that particular post. If they could have seen my face, it was surely as red as my hair. I'm surprised I didn't bruise my forehead from the massive facepalm I gave myself. I can honestly say for the first time in forever I was embarrassed.
Luckily, though, our little tale of woe has a happy ending. They accepted my next submission and posted it on their website. And my mortifying moment actually inspired the blog I sent them. "Autism Is Not A Four Letter Word". You can check it out on www.nsvar.org. This is a wonderful organization that helps people in Virginia find the resources they need for autism treatments and therapies.
So now, I am going to get off the computer for the night. I'm getting tired and as I proved today, I have the tendency to make a total jackass of myself when I get sleepy. :)
Monday, September 16, 2013
I Never Knew Heartache Until Now
The most heartbreaking thing in the world is not being able to help your child. To sit back and feel completely and utterly helpless is devastating. There is an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that washes over you and makes you feel like you are failing the one person in the world who needs you most. Meltdowns are the worst things ever for my son to go through, and they are the best at making me feel inadequate as a parent.
Tonight's meltdown was triggered by the dreaded math homework. I sympathize with him because math has always been the thorn in my side. I just don't have a mathematical brain and I hate that I have passed it on to my children. But how do you handle it when the child thinks there is something wrong with them and that is the reason they don't understand? What do you do when you can see by the look on his face that he is losing control and feeling helpless because he doesn't know how to process these feelings? He's not being a brat or out of control when he throws his hands over his ears like he's desperately trying to block out the world and cries "help me, Mommy". Autism makes it so difficult for him to process and express these emotions and to an outsider it looks like one helluva temper tantrum. He's not throwing a fit because I've grounded him from the Xbox, or taken away his favorite toy. He just can't express his frustration any other way. It is torture for him to go through it and for us to watch, unable to stop it.
Being a mom I feel it is my job to be able to make everything better. I've healed boo boo's with kisses, Band Aids and popsicles. But a meltdown can't be made better with those things. You have to wait it out no matter how long it takes. When the worst of the storm was over, my 5 foot tall, 110 pound 10 year old crawled onto my 5'2 size lap and let me hold him like I did when he was a baby. It was comforting to know that I could still do that. I can't fix Autism, I can't stop the meltdowns. All I can do is hold my baby boy when he'll let me and tell him that even when he's bigger than me, I will still do it.
Tonight's meltdown was triggered by the dreaded math homework. I sympathize with him because math has always been the thorn in my side. I just don't have a mathematical brain and I hate that I have passed it on to my children. But how do you handle it when the child thinks there is something wrong with them and that is the reason they don't understand? What do you do when you can see by the look on his face that he is losing control and feeling helpless because he doesn't know how to process these feelings? He's not being a brat or out of control when he throws his hands over his ears like he's desperately trying to block out the world and cries "help me, Mommy". Autism makes it so difficult for him to process and express these emotions and to an outsider it looks like one helluva temper tantrum. He's not throwing a fit because I've grounded him from the Xbox, or taken away his favorite toy. He just can't express his frustration any other way. It is torture for him to go through it and for us to watch, unable to stop it.
Being a mom I feel it is my job to be able to make everything better. I've healed boo boo's with kisses, Band Aids and popsicles. But a meltdown can't be made better with those things. You have to wait it out no matter how long it takes. When the worst of the storm was over, my 5 foot tall, 110 pound 10 year old crawled onto my 5'2 size lap and let me hold him like I did when he was a baby. It was comforting to know that I could still do that. I can't fix Autism, I can't stop the meltdowns. All I can do is hold my baby boy when he'll let me and tell him that even when he's bigger than me, I will still do it.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Forgiveness is Not a Right
Someone said to me yesterday "Everyone deserves to be forgiven". That has been stuck in my head all night and day. The more I think about it, the more I have to disagree. Not everyone deserves to be forgiven. For someone you have hurt so deeply to forgive you is a privilege, not a right. And just because you offer an apology doesn't mean I have to accept. I do not believe this makes me a bad person. It makes me human.
I spent years waiting for an apology from certain people for the things they did and did not do. I never received them and now it's too late because they have both passed on. I was told that forgiving them would help me, that it would release me from the dark place I've been in. Um, excuse me. I am not in a dark place. I have a beautiful life because that is what I chose. I chose not to wallow in the past and let it get me down. Yes, I am still mad as hell at these people and sometimes I still cry about it. But that doesn't hold me back from living my life. Crying is not an indication that I'm not over it or that these people still have a hold on me. It just means that I was hurt to the depths of my soul and those kind of wounds never go away. The scars might fade and the memories might become less vivid, but it is always there. I'm also a firm believer that dying doesn't grant you a reprieve from the crappy things you did to people while you were alive. It doesn't make you any less of an asshole, and I will never think that dying instantly changes you from bad to good.
Now if anyone is wondering this to themselves, yes, I am a Christian. I do know that it is my Christian duty to forgive and to ask myself "what would Jesus do". It is easier said than done. Maybe I'm not as far into my spiritual journey as I'd like to believe since I can't do this one thing. Maybe these people who hurt me didn't feel the need to ask for my forgiveness because they asked for it from Jesus. If that's the case, so be it. Because I'm asking forgiveness from Him for the hatred I feel for them. As long as I have that, I will be ok.
I spent years waiting for an apology from certain people for the things they did and did not do. I never received them and now it's too late because they have both passed on. I was told that forgiving them would help me, that it would release me from the dark place I've been in. Um, excuse me. I am not in a dark place. I have a beautiful life because that is what I chose. I chose not to wallow in the past and let it get me down. Yes, I am still mad as hell at these people and sometimes I still cry about it. But that doesn't hold me back from living my life. Crying is not an indication that I'm not over it or that these people still have a hold on me. It just means that I was hurt to the depths of my soul and those kind of wounds never go away. The scars might fade and the memories might become less vivid, but it is always there. I'm also a firm believer that dying doesn't grant you a reprieve from the crappy things you did to people while you were alive. It doesn't make you any less of an asshole, and I will never think that dying instantly changes you from bad to good.
Now if anyone is wondering this to themselves, yes, I am a Christian. I do know that it is my Christian duty to forgive and to ask myself "what would Jesus do". It is easier said than done. Maybe I'm not as far into my spiritual journey as I'd like to believe since I can't do this one thing. Maybe these people who hurt me didn't feel the need to ask for my forgiveness because they asked for it from Jesus. If that's the case, so be it. Because I'm asking forgiveness from Him for the hatred I feel for them. As long as I have that, I will be ok.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Thank You, Captain Obvious
I haven't had a decent night's sleep in at least a month. Pretty much since I started school sleep has been more of a luxury than a necessity. I knew that would happen when I started. And I'm ok with it. It's a sacrfice I'm willing to make so I can complete my degree and feel that sense of accomplishment. That being said, I have seen the dark circles under my eyes and that lack of luster in my complexion.
I DON'T NEED YOU TO POINT IT OUT TO ME!
Yesterday was particulary rough. When I do sleep it's very restless. My brain doesn't fully turn off and I toss and turn all night. I was up until 11:30 the night before and when my alarm went off at 5 I wanted to throw it across the room. I dragged myself through the day with the help of a Trenta (that's the big daddy) iced coffee from Starbucks and about 4 Diet Cokes. By the time I got home my buzz had worn off and I crashed on the couch. I didn't even know I did it until I heard Ryan say "are you sleeping?". When I woke up I made myself go to the store to get the few things we needed. I didn't want to go at all, but you gotta do what ya do. And my kids were expecting breakfast in the morning, so...off I went.
As I was checking out the cashier says to me, in a very cheerful manner, " you look like you need a nap!"
If looks could have killed that guy would have disintergrated before my very eyes. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Everyone can see I look like hammered shit and I've already had a nap!! It's bad enough you just rang up my wrinkle cream, why don't you kick me while I'm down?? Not all of us are 18-25 years old and can function on very little sleep. Somehow I managed to say, through clenched teeth, "yes, i could use one" and left the store without causing a major scene.
Here's the thing. I know what I look like. I have mirrors in my house. If you wouldn't point it out to me when I look amazing, don't point it out when I look like an extra from The Walking Dead. Because the next time you do I just might bite your head off.
I DON'T NEED YOU TO POINT IT OUT TO ME!
Yesterday was particulary rough. When I do sleep it's very restless. My brain doesn't fully turn off and I toss and turn all night. I was up until 11:30 the night before and when my alarm went off at 5 I wanted to throw it across the room. I dragged myself through the day with the help of a Trenta (that's the big daddy) iced coffee from Starbucks and about 4 Diet Cokes. By the time I got home my buzz had worn off and I crashed on the couch. I didn't even know I did it until I heard Ryan say "are you sleeping?". When I woke up I made myself go to the store to get the few things we needed. I didn't want to go at all, but you gotta do what ya do. And my kids were expecting breakfast in the morning, so...off I went.
As I was checking out the cashier says to me, in a very cheerful manner, " you look like you need a nap!"
If looks could have killed that guy would have disintergrated before my very eyes. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Everyone can see I look like hammered shit and I've already had a nap!! It's bad enough you just rang up my wrinkle cream, why don't you kick me while I'm down?? Not all of us are 18-25 years old and can function on very little sleep. Somehow I managed to say, through clenched teeth, "yes, i could use one" and left the store without causing a major scene.
Here's the thing. I know what I look like. I have mirrors in my house. If you wouldn't point it out to me when I look amazing, don't point it out when I look like an extra from The Walking Dead. Because the next time you do I just might bite your head off.
Monday, September 9, 2013
That Bitch Had to Go
It's been a long process for me to like who I am. 35 years of wishing I was taller, skinnier, freckle-less, and not shy. Obviously those things won't go away except for the shy part. I gave that up long ago. Every thing else is here to stay and I am happy with it. But before I could be happy with myself I had to cut a long time frenemy out of my life. The bitch had to go. Her name was "the scale".
There were times when I thought she was my best friend. The lower the number went the better I felt. The higher it went the more disgusted I became. Stepping on that evil soul crusher would make or break my day, and more often that not it broke it. Finally enough was enough. The bitch got evicted from the bathroom and relocated to the garbage. She was never seen nor heard from again...(ominous music is playing in my head)
I've learned to cut out all things toxic and hateful. The scale was the first to go, then a few others, but losing the scale was the most empowering. I suppose this could be taken as a warning-if you try to ruin my day, rain on my parade or knock me off my cloud -BOOM!! you'll be gone like the scale is. Mwahahahahahaha!!! I like my shortness(I married a tall man and if need be I can climb on a chair to reach things), I like my body(I enjoy being a curvy girl with muscles and a big booty, thankyouverymuch) and I like my freckles because both my kids have them and it's something they get from me. I work out now to be healthy and fit, not "skinny" and the only thing I continue to change about myself is my hair. I love trying new colors and styles and let's face it-I rock the hell out of Manic Panic Vampire Red like nobody's business. ;)
I will never again let an object control who or what I think I should be. And I really hope everyone who struggles with this will one day reach this point like I did. <3
There were times when I thought she was my best friend. The lower the number went the better I felt. The higher it went the more disgusted I became. Stepping on that evil soul crusher would make or break my day, and more often that not it broke it. Finally enough was enough. The bitch got evicted from the bathroom and relocated to the garbage. She was never seen nor heard from again...(ominous music is playing in my head)
I've learned to cut out all things toxic and hateful. The scale was the first to go, then a few others, but losing the scale was the most empowering. I suppose this could be taken as a warning-if you try to ruin my day, rain on my parade or knock me off my cloud -BOOM!! you'll be gone like the scale is. Mwahahahahahaha!!! I like my shortness(I married a tall man and if need be I can climb on a chair to reach things), I like my body(I enjoy being a curvy girl with muscles and a big booty, thankyouverymuch) and I like my freckles because both my kids have them and it's something they get from me. I work out now to be healthy and fit, not "skinny" and the only thing I continue to change about myself is my hair. I love trying new colors and styles and let's face it-I rock the hell out of Manic Panic Vampire Red like nobody's business. ;)
I will never again let an object control who or what I think I should be. And I really hope everyone who struggles with this will one day reach this point like I did. <3
Friday, September 6, 2013
Don't Blame Me For Your Stupidity
To the person who's foot I crushed the other day at Kroger-I'm not sorry. Had you not entered my personal space while I was trying to select a pack of hamburger, I would not have backed up and stomped your foot with my boot. I'm sure it hurt since you were wearing flip flops and I had on high heeled boots, but you lost your sincere apology from me when you gave me the stink eye and acted like it was my fault. Personal space is called personal for a reason. You don't need to be in it! Good old fashioned manners would have went miles for you in this situation. A simple excuse me would have gotten my attention and I would have gladly moved over for you. If you had recognized the fact that you shouldn't have been so damn close to me I could smell the stale cigarettes on your clothes and took your part of the blame, I would have told you I was sorry and meant it. But no. You squinted your eyes and scowled up your face like I did it on purpose. For a second I really thought you were going to go crackhead crazy on me and I was ready to pick up a 5lb roll of ground beef and knock the hell out of you with it. Instead you sat on the floor and rubbed your foot in an extremely exaggerated fashion and I gave you an extremely insincere apology. You almost got a "bless your heart" from me, which we all know means "screw you, bitch" but I like to save those for special occasions. My point is next time you feel the need to force your way to the front of a line, or try to push someone out of the way so you can grab a pack of steaks, remember how the little piggies that went to market almost didn't make it home because they were severed by someone's high heel.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Restroom or Phone Booth?
I have noticed this on more than one occasion, and I am sure there are many people who don't think it is a big deal. However, I just cannot wrap my head around this.
Why in the hell do some people have full blown conversations on their phones while using a public restroom?
Let's forget about the ick factor for a minute and not even think about all the germs floating around in those cesspools. I'm the type of person who uses my foot to flush the toilet when I'm out and will put two of the paper seat covers down. I don't want to touch anything let alone have all the nastiness in there land on something I put close to my face! Hopefully the people that do this wash their hands after they're finished with their business, but do you think the thought even enters their minds to wipe off the phone? Probably not.
The thing that bugs me the most about it is what on Earth is so important that it can't wait just a few minutes while you do your duty? (Take that however you want ) Are you so co dependent that you can't go potty alone? Do you need encouragement? If that's the case I'll shout a few uplifting words to you through the stall." You can do it!" " Almost there!" And for those people who are having the reeeeaaallly long conversations, no matter how loud you speak to try and drown out the noises your ass is making, we all know what you're doing and you seriously need to see a doctor about your digestive problems. Not only that, do you think the person on the other end wants to hear you grunting or hear you pee? And what about the toilets flushing? You can't hide that sound!
Maybe it's just me. I wouldn't even question this if you told me you do this at home. That seems a little better (but not much) because there is at least some degree of privacy. But to do it in public just seems weird. It actually takes a lot to shock me or make me say WTF, but chatting it up while dropping a load is just something I don't get. If you need entertainment while you're in there, you've got your phone, play Candy Crush like normal people! But please, for the love of God, don't call all your friends. Some things really can wait a minute..or 10.
Why in the hell do some people have full blown conversations on their phones while using a public restroom?
Let's forget about the ick factor for a minute and not even think about all the germs floating around in those cesspools. I'm the type of person who uses my foot to flush the toilet when I'm out and will put two of the paper seat covers down. I don't want to touch anything let alone have all the nastiness in there land on something I put close to my face! Hopefully the people that do this wash their hands after they're finished with their business, but do you think the thought even enters their minds to wipe off the phone? Probably not.
The thing that bugs me the most about it is what on Earth is so important that it can't wait just a few minutes while you do your duty? (Take that however you want ) Are you so co dependent that you can't go potty alone? Do you need encouragement? If that's the case I'll shout a few uplifting words to you through the stall." You can do it!" " Almost there!" And for those people who are having the reeeeaaallly long conversations, no matter how loud you speak to try and drown out the noises your ass is making, we all know what you're doing and you seriously need to see a doctor about your digestive problems. Not only that, do you think the person on the other end wants to hear you grunting or hear you pee? And what about the toilets flushing? You can't hide that sound!
Maybe it's just me. I wouldn't even question this if you told me you do this at home. That seems a little better (but not much) because there is at least some degree of privacy. But to do it in public just seems weird. It actually takes a lot to shock me or make me say WTF, but chatting it up while dropping a load is just something I don't get. If you need entertainment while you're in there, you've got your phone, play Candy Crush like normal people! But please, for the love of God, don't call all your friends. Some things really can wait a minute..or 10.
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