Well, today is the day I move out of my house. This was my dream house when I moved in, I thought it would be the last place I ever lived. But instead it became my prison...partly b/c of the remoteness of it and partly for other reasons. These last few months have really been rough between me and the hubby. So, although I am moving out into a smaller apartment, I am excited about the future and finally feel like a free human being again--like my life is my own. I have lived so long without being able to make my own decisions about where I'll live that I feel... unshackled is the word that comes to mind.
That is pretty big news, but I also wanted to write about how the 4th of July went. The most magical moment was watching Ian's face as he watched the fireworks. He had an enthralled half-smile and I could see the reflection of the fireworks in his eyes. It was really a beautiful moment, watching the fireworks in Ian's eyes. Riley, was entranced as well, judging my his pointing and bouncing but my husband had a hold of him so I didn't get to see the close-up of his expressions.
What's next? I am off to work on another degree so I can be employed in a field I actually have an interest in. The future is bright.
I have been facebooking it up lately, contacting people I haven't seen in years. I used to only use facebook to spy on my nieces and talk to people I actually talked to on a regular basis. Now, I see the value in having a page just to connect with other people like extended family and old friends.
I think another thing that left me cold with facebook was all the has-beens from my high school who were on there, so whenever I would log on I had a page full of bad grammar slang and binge-drinking-party updates--and these are 30-somethings.
I felt guilty about de-friending anyone but these were all people I haven't spoken to in years and barely knew in the first place. Plus, they were really making my facebook page a crappy place to hang out. So, I de-friended alot of them. If anyone notices, the excuse I'll give is that I was job searching and only wanted professional contacts and family on my page (which is true in part) in case anyone wanted to look into it, they would see what a straight arrow I was. But all that just to say this, I don't want people who can't spell or construct sentences to leave their moronic ramblings on my page! My facebook page is a classy place.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Summer 2011
In September, when I look back at this summer in hindsight, I will remember the swimming pool with Ian bravely jumping in from the sides and Riley clutching my swimsuit for dear life.
I will remember riding the beach cruiser with the carriage attached to the back around the neighborhood, but never by the duckpond after the time Ian tried to jump out while the bike was moving because he was so excited about the ducks and the water.
I will remember my boys sweet identical brown eyes in the rear-view mirror and how we all three like country.
I will remember my boys piling in a dogpile on me, both clamoring for the biggest hugs, and me trying to hug both equally and simultaneously.
I will remember your faces at the fireworks.
I will remember chasing Ian on the beach and putting Riley to sleep in the shade of the umbrella.
I will remember riding the beach cruiser with the carriage attached to the back around the neighborhood, but never by the duckpond after the time Ian tried to jump out while the bike was moving because he was so excited about the ducks and the water.
I will remember my boys sweet identical brown eyes in the rear-view mirror and how we all three like country.
I will remember my boys piling in a dogpile on me, both clamoring for the biggest hugs, and me trying to hug both equally and simultaneously.
I will remember your faces at the fireworks.
I will remember chasing Ian on the beach and putting Riley to sleep in the shade of the umbrella.
China Cup
Well, to my surprise, people I am not related to read my blog. 'Bout time you folks realized just how exciting this place is and dropped by.
Also, had time to cool off and decided to change the title to my last blog as 'forget you...'
Now to the meat and bones of tonite's entry. For those of you who notice such things, it is another weekend night and I have nothing else to do. A social worker came by the house, at my request, to help me with some parenting techniques. It's part of a parent support program. She seemed surprised at my lack of social life and suggested I try to get out more and do things for myself so I wouldn't be so pent up and toddlermomonthebrinkofinsanity-ish. So, I did. I went to this really neat flea market and found a fine china 6-piece cup/saucer/salad plate set. For only 28 bucks! I put it on my table and in no time at all my son broke the handle off one of the cups. I screamed out, 'GD it'. Which is a word I don't usually scream out, so my hubby sensed I was at my most frustrated and removed our son to his bedroom. I was busy gluing the 4 pieces of the handle back to the cup, for appearances sake, when my husband walks back into the room.
'What's the big deal?', he wonders aloud, 'if you got it at the flea market it's probably just junk.' What a prick.
I explain fine china to him and comparatively price off ebay that a cup itself is 16 bucks, so for me to get what I did is pretty good but a service with a missing cup is worthless as a set and all you can do is sell it for scrap if you wanted. I am beginning to fear I will never have an estate set. I really want one, just to have it all set up in the formal dining room. But you are going into four figures for an estate set and now that I'm not working, and all, it may be awhile before I see one of those. I'm thinking of just asking everybody who buys me a christmas present to buy a different part of the set. In five years or so, I may have it completed. Some people do things like that for charity, I'll do it for china.
Also, had time to cool off and decided to change the title to my last blog as 'forget you...'
Now to the meat and bones of tonite's entry. For those of you who notice such things, it is another weekend night and I have nothing else to do. A social worker came by the house, at my request, to help me with some parenting techniques. It's part of a parent support program. She seemed surprised at my lack of social life and suggested I try to get out more and do things for myself so I wouldn't be so pent up and toddlermomonthebrinkofinsanity-ish. So, I did. I went to this really neat flea market and found a fine china 6-piece cup/saucer/salad plate set. For only 28 bucks! I put it on my table and in no time at all my son broke the handle off one of the cups. I screamed out, 'GD it'. Which is a word I don't usually scream out, so my hubby sensed I was at my most frustrated and removed our son to his bedroom. I was busy gluing the 4 pieces of the handle back to the cup, for appearances sake, when my husband walks back into the room.
'What's the big deal?', he wonders aloud, 'if you got it at the flea market it's probably just junk.' What a prick.
I explain fine china to him and comparatively price off ebay that a cup itself is 16 bucks, so for me to get what I did is pretty good but a service with a missing cup is worthless as a set and all you can do is sell it for scrap if you wanted. I am beginning to fear I will never have an estate set. I really want one, just to have it all set up in the formal dining room. But you are going into four figures for an estate set and now that I'm not working, and all, it may be awhile before I see one of those. I'm thinking of just asking everybody who buys me a christmas present to buy a different part of the set. In five years or so, I may have it completed. Some people do things like that for charity, I'll do it for china.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Forget You, Proctor and Gamble
I am so mad at that Molly Hincka Special Olympics commercial. Of course, bravo to her that she has accomplished so much. But how about the rest of us special parents who, despite all of our efforts and belief, do not have children who defy their diagnosis.
Maybe we just aren't the parents Mrs. Hincka is, maybe we just don't believe enough. That's the message I'm getting. I think Proctor and Gamble is sensationalizing something rare and miraculous--like running despite all odds. I guess the rest of us who have special kids just didn't believe as hard as Mrs. Hincka did.
Well, fuck you Proctor & Gamble. It's a fucking insensitive commercial. It implies that if your child doesn't defeat the odds, then you don't believe in them enough.
I'm sick of that shit, that miracle bullshit. Miracles are rare. Most of us are struggling through this and I'm tired of having my faith questioned because my child hasn't been healed miraculously. Where are all the articles on the parents who tried everything and still struggle with reaching their kids? Where are all the articles on how the parents cope on a day-to-day basis who have special needs kids living at home? We are not special ed teachers or therapists, we are not trained in this. Those type of resources need to be out there in as much abundance as all these snake-oil propaganda.
Because what do we do special parents? When our child gets diagnosed? We live in denial, we refuse to say the words autistic or retarded. We secretively use google only to discover these conditions can be cured miraculously solely by the mother's belief. That's all it takes. Why is it so fucking hard to find articles on how to apply ABA therapy at home and what ABA therapy is in layman's terms. We need real solutions on how to deal with our stress and help our child live productively, not sold on a parade of exceptions who defied the odds.
Maybe we just aren't the parents Mrs. Hincka is, maybe we just don't believe enough. That's the message I'm getting. I think Proctor and Gamble is sensationalizing something rare and miraculous--like running despite all odds. I guess the rest of us who have special kids just didn't believe as hard as Mrs. Hincka did.
Well, fuck you Proctor & Gamble. It's a fucking insensitive commercial. It implies that if your child doesn't defeat the odds, then you don't believe in them enough.
I'm sick of that shit, that miracle bullshit. Miracles are rare. Most of us are struggling through this and I'm tired of having my faith questioned because my child hasn't been healed miraculously. Where are all the articles on the parents who tried everything and still struggle with reaching their kids? Where are all the articles on how the parents cope on a day-to-day basis who have special needs kids living at home? We are not special ed teachers or therapists, we are not trained in this. Those type of resources need to be out there in as much abundance as all these snake-oil propaganda.
Because what do we do special parents? When our child gets diagnosed? We live in denial, we refuse to say the words autistic or retarded. We secretively use google only to discover these conditions can be cured miraculously solely by the mother's belief. That's all it takes. Why is it so fucking hard to find articles on how to apply ABA therapy at home and what ABA therapy is in layman's terms. We need real solutions on how to deal with our stress and help our child live productively, not sold on a parade of exceptions who defied the odds.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Future Looks Dim
Oh, my gosh, I am so frustrated right now with Ian's development.
He lost skills and is back in diapers. I am so sad. I am fearing I need to live to be over 100 so I will be able to care for him. He is not there. I can't reach him.
My husband is in such denial, he won't even use the word autistic.
I saw this video that was supposed to inspire hope, it was a severely autistic person's essay, this person could write but not speak apparently. It was a very profound, educated view point about how in tune autistics are with the whole universe and if they aren't communicating in a narrow, limited way then people don't even view them as a person. What was so dim about it was the author couldn't function in society normally. I let myself have hope sometimes that he will function normally and be able to make a living, then I see something like this where a highly intelligent autistic person doesn't have control of their rocking or hands and can't make words.
I am just going to bed now.
He lost skills and is back in diapers. I am so sad. I am fearing I need to live to be over 100 so I will be able to care for him. He is not there. I can't reach him.
My husband is in such denial, he won't even use the word autistic.
I saw this video that was supposed to inspire hope, it was a severely autistic person's essay, this person could write but not speak apparently. It was a very profound, educated view point about how in tune autistics are with the whole universe and if they aren't communicating in a narrow, limited way then people don't even view them as a person. What was so dim about it was the author couldn't function in society normally. I let myself have hope sometimes that he will function normally and be able to make a living, then I see something like this where a highly intelligent autistic person doesn't have control of their rocking or hands and can't make words.
I am just going to bed now.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
not a frustrated post
I found I mostly blog when I'm upset about something so I decided to take a cue from my fakeity-fake co-bloggers who have perfect lives and never get into arguments or yell at their kids and write something sugary for my masses of readers out there.
This will not be visceral and edgy like my other posts. And yes, I know I am giving myself too much credit there.
My darling, son, Ian. You are upstairs jumping on the trampoline and it is 5:30 am. I am on my 3rd cup of coffee trying to keep up with you. Your energy is amazing. You are so brave, too. For a four year old, you attack the grown up pool like you don't need your life jacket and waders and have me running behind you, calling on you to wait. You run on oblivious, fast. Many people mistake you for an older child, you are big for your age--and strong.
My sweet, son, Riley. You are sleeping right now, but when awake you try your best to follow in your brother's footsteps. You yell when he yells, fight when he fights, attack the dog on his cue. You laugh at yourself when I chastise you for it. As if we are both in on the same joke. I see you have a sense of humor. You have the gift to make any babysitter fall in love with you. And you are a good dancer! Yes, you dance. You clap your hands and wave your arms in the air to any music or singing. You are a happy, loud baby.
This will not be visceral and edgy like my other posts. And yes, I know I am giving myself too much credit there.
My darling, son, Ian. You are upstairs jumping on the trampoline and it is 5:30 am. I am on my 3rd cup of coffee trying to keep up with you. Your energy is amazing. You are so brave, too. For a four year old, you attack the grown up pool like you don't need your life jacket and waders and have me running behind you, calling on you to wait. You run on oblivious, fast. Many people mistake you for an older child, you are big for your age--and strong.
My sweet, son, Riley. You are sleeping right now, but when awake you try your best to follow in your brother's footsteps. You yell when he yells, fight when he fights, attack the dog on his cue. You laugh at yourself when I chastise you for it. As if we are both in on the same joke. I see you have a sense of humor. You have the gift to make any babysitter fall in love with you. And you are a good dancer! Yes, you dance. You clap your hands and wave your arms in the air to any music or singing. You are a happy, loud baby.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
He Should Say
So, my husband misplaces his credit card and asks me for it. I say I haven't had it for days. He proceeds to look through my wallet and purse. I let him, I ask to look through his wallet to make sure he didn't overlook it. He ignores me. The card is lost, officially lost. I can tell by the knot in his eyebrow that he is blaming me. I remind him of the last time he used the card (at the gas station the day earlier) and proceed to remind him, the last time I used the card was days before that (at wal-mart). He is without a doubt the loser of the card.
So, he finds another thing to pick a fight with me about. Because now he is just upset and full of venom and needs to find something that is my fault. Then we end up fighting over the mortgage, which I am no longer paying into. I tell him he is lucky he is married to someone who paid into it as long as I did because it is a luxury none of his co-workers have and oh, by the way, some women don't pay anything at all to their husbands. Then I unloaded my own bit of venom on that topic which ended with me saying that I would just move out with the kids and problem solved.
Now, he finds himself in pout mode upstairs in the guest room where he retreated to with his individually prepared plate of spaghetti when he realized that when provoked I will take an argument into divorce-talk territory. Now he is walking around all pout-sacked out of it and actually has me apologizing to him.
I may have committed full-frontal argument assault but he goes and lays the guilt trips on me and has me saying sorry to him when he started the argument in the first place--over a topic we were already agreed upon--and just because he was pissy over losing his card. He should be sorry to me. He should say, 'you're right, I can't do it without you.'
I never get that type of gratitude.
So, he finds another thing to pick a fight with me about. Because now he is just upset and full of venom and needs to find something that is my fault. Then we end up fighting over the mortgage, which I am no longer paying into. I tell him he is lucky he is married to someone who paid into it as long as I did because it is a luxury none of his co-workers have and oh, by the way, some women don't pay anything at all to their husbands. Then I unloaded my own bit of venom on that topic which ended with me saying that I would just move out with the kids and problem solved.
Now, he finds himself in pout mode upstairs in the guest room where he retreated to with his individually prepared plate of spaghetti when he realized that when provoked I will take an argument into divorce-talk territory. Now he is walking around all pout-sacked out of it and actually has me apologizing to him.
I may have committed full-frontal argument assault but he goes and lays the guilt trips on me and has me saying sorry to him when he started the argument in the first place--over a topic we were already agreed upon--and just because he was pissy over losing his card. He should be sorry to me. He should say, 'you're right, I can't do it without you.'
I never get that type of gratitude.
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