Sunday, October 7, 2012

I need an extra day of the week.. Or a clone of myself.

There's just not enough days in the week.. 
I'm up to my ears in school work that needs to be read through and graded.. 
And school books, and teacher's editions of said school books.. 
And making next week's schedule up.. Luckily I have like 2 months worth of spelling/vocab words figured out. heh.. *sigh*

I had stuff around the house I wanted to get to this weekend. Deep cleaning, if you will. But who am I kidding? I really didn't want to do that crap anyway!

  Two day weekends are too short.. 
Saturday I'm spent and can barely get ANYTHING done, not to mention I'm out of patience with the monkeys.. 
Sunday I have church and scheduling out the yin-yang.. And you know, I'd like to find some time to spend with the husband-guy. Considering he's at school 5 days a week, when he comes home he has homework, and at least one day of the weekend he's stuck with homework. (If not all weekend)..

I wish we could go on a date with husband-guy.. Or hell, I wish I had time to paint my toenails! Take a hot bath without someone knocking on the door because they have to pee and I locked my bedroom door.  O.O
I need an extra weekend day.. call it.. Catchuponyourshiturday! It would be like the monday of the weekend.. but that's ok. I'd be able to get caught up on all this stuff I have to do!

Back to grading papers. -_-

Friday, October 5, 2012

What the...? - And pulled from the archives.

Bink: "Mom.. Mooom.. MOM!!! HEY! LOOK AT ME!!" *serious face*... "It's a 7.. 4.. I SAID IT'S A SEVEN FOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!" *glaring at me*

Me: O.O.... "but.. I don't know what that means."

Bink: *rageface*.. Lowers her voice and snarls "LOOK. AT. ME. IT'S A SEVEN. FOUR. A SIX. A SEVEN. FOUR. SEVEN. FOUR. SEVEN. FOUR. SEVEN. FOUR. SEVEN. FOUR. (repeat 1298423987234 times)"

Me. -_-
Why is it the kids are quiet and calm until I go into the bathroom.. Then bink starts kicking and hitting the door screaming and sobbing "MOMMY COME BAAAAACK! MOMMY!!! MOMMY!!!" Then Jordan starts knocking on the door saying "Mom! Bink is sitting on Figero!" (the cat) Then she flips her shit because Triston decides to play disciplinarian and puts her in her room for a "time out".. Then Jordan comes back to the door. "MOM! Triston's picking on Charleigh!!" Then Triston "No I'm NOT! I'm trying to teach her a lesson!!!" Then Charleigh "TRISTON DID IT MOM!!! TRISTON DID IT!!!! MOMMY!!! MOM!!! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!"

When I walked out of the room Bink was sitting at the table sipping apple cider and singing quietly to herself. Triston was alternating sitting on the couch reading Harry Potter and helping Jordan put away dishes that were too high for him to reach, and Jordan was emptying the dishwasher.. How the HELL did it all unravel in under a minute!??!

And here I thought it'd be so nice to pee by myself. *eyeroll*


And now, for your viewing pleasure.. A very old blog I have to pull from the archives and share. This was July 2009.

The difference between boys and girls.

This is how the conversation went..

T. "Mommy, how come Faith doesn't have a bladder?"

Me: "Faith has a bladder"

T. "No she doesn't, only boys have bladders."

Me: "Everyone that pees has a bladder"

Quiet, while I ponder his statement.....

Me: "Triston, did you mean penis? Why doesn't Faith have a penis?"

T. " I dunno. What's a penis."

Me: *pointing in the general direction* "You know, your dinger"

T. "Ooooh. Yeah. Why doesn't Faith have a penis?"

Me: "Because she's a girl"

T. "Oh, because she's.. 'different'"

(meaning because she has autism)

Me: *trying so hard not to laugh* "No, just because she's a girl, boy parts and girl parts are different"

T. "Why don't girls have penises?"

Me: "Because then we wouldn't be girls, we'd be boys"

T. "Oh, so you are all.. 'different'"

*yes he did air quotes*

Me: "Yes son, boys and girls are ALL different"



So, it's been awhile, huh?

Lots of things.. Firstly.. All beauty related things.. will be over on my other blog. Lipstick Ninja
so.. yeah.. go check over thurr.. If I ever get around to writing it again.. *fingers crossed*.. This particular blog will be focused on. Well, shenanigans.. My kids, family, you know.. that sort of thing. If that's not your cuppa'tea no problem.

I guess, maybe a refresher is in order...

The players:

The Oldest.. We call him Josh. He'll be 12 in december. He's severely autistic and non-verbal.

The Albino: We call this one Triston. He'll be 12 in may. He's autistic, very smart, was being bullied at his middle school so we now homeschool him. More on that later.

Freckles: We call him Jordan. He'll be 10 in November He's a mama's boy through and through, that bit of info will be important later, I'm sure. He's also homeschooled.

The Fairy: We call her Faith, she'll be 10 in february. She thinks she's becoming a fairy. She's also autistic. She wants to grow up to be a fairy that grows fruits and vegetables and gives them to people who don't have enough food.

Bink, Binky, Boogie, Boog, Tot, Silly-Lily, and about 9,000 other names: We call her Charleigh, also Chuck... She's going to be 3 this month. She's got the face of an angel.. But I'm pretty sure she's concentrated ebil. It's entertaining.. I'll give her that.

Husband Guy: I call him.. Husband Guy.. He's in school full time.. only 1 semester after this.. Getting a degree in environmental engineering. Being a dad. And the yin to my yang.. or yang to my yin.. I'm not really sure how that all works.

Then there's me.. I call myself me.. or I.. or myself... But I'm sure that you'll figure that out as we go. You're a smart cookie.. after all, you're reading this blog. *insert shit-eating-grin*

Also.. I should note.. I cuss.. I try not to in front of my kids.. but I fail sometimes.. And my kids aren't reading this.. Well, at least not yet. Maybe when they're older. Then again, maybe not. I don't really know. I'm not a psychic-mom-pokemon. (More on that later too) I am fairly certain that they won't be surprised to find that I typed cuss words sometimes. I'm not entirely sure they're going to care... *mind wanders*

My kids are amazing.. And I love them. Like.. A whole lot. But sometimes.. They are BAD MONKEYS! I do my best to laugh it off. But I'm sure I'll come here and post some rageface vent at some point. This is normal. Don't freak out. Mostly.. I think I'm going to write just our "normal" daily craziness.. Things that are noteworthy. Or funny. Or ridonk. You'll see. MY normal will be MUCH different than YOUR normal. It's ok, I'm used to it.

I don't fancy myself to be a professional writer person. But it's been mentioned that I should start a blog.. I have a blog. Several. But I forget about them sometimes... my bad. LOL. So here I am, doing the blogging thing.. Not really sure if anyone will read this, but that's ok. I've kind of decided all the crazy funny weird crap I post as facebook statuses all need to be compiled somewhere where I can look back at them and lol.. or shake my head.. or make a "wtf face". So this is mostly for me. 

In any case, I hope we can make you laugh, or scratch your head, or have deep thoughts, or change your perspective.. Or.. I don't know. Have some small impact on your life.

That's pretty much that. Stay tuned. Lots more to come, I'm sure!

Sunday, July 11, 2010


*sigh*The experiences of being young and naive, when everyday was an adventure, every new experience exciting and fresh. There was no mediocrity in our lives then. School meant working hard, and playing harder. Forming bonds with our peers with which to shape all future relationships. We found every story amazing. Grownups seemed to know everything, and we aspired to be "great" like them. We learned the value of a few good friends, rather than many acquaintances, though some of us may have forgotten that lesson along the way. We knew there was "bad" in the world.. somewhere.. But for now "bad" was not being allowed a second pop-sicle on a hot summer's day. Not that it mattered as long as there was a good friend there to spend the day with. We lived for today, because we had no concept of the "future".

We were cops and robbers, we were rock stars, we were doctors and vet's, we were astronauts, circus performers doing amazing acrobatics. We were invincible to all monsters, bad guys, boogymen, ghosts, and evil-do-ers. Yet, unbenounced to us we were the most vulnerable to real evil-do-ers and bad guys.

Things were simpler. It didn't matter where you came from. How you dressed. Race was not an issue unless it was one you were running in. And the friendships that were real and true, well, those lasted a lifetime (if only in memory.)

I learned so much from my childhood friends. I learned that the word "family" did not just mean people you were related to by blood or marriage. That to love someone didn't have to mean romantically or strictly for our said "families". I learned the importance of backing up my friends. And standing up for the "little guy" who didn't seem to have many friends. I learned that even though other people think they are "different" they should get to be included. I learned compassion, strength for myself, and for those who couldn't be strong for themselves. I learned to be giving and selfless for those who didn't have what I had. I learned a good friend can cure any bad mood.

I've lost touch with my "inner-child" so to speak, and many of her friends, over the years. It's hardened me. Which, unfortunately, tends to go hand in hand with growing up. I long for the days where I could run through the grass with arms open wide, pretending to be flying. No. I WAS flying. When summer vacation felt like it would never end, then always came to an abrupt halt, just when you felt like it was getting good. Where nap was a "four letter word". ;)

Talking to an old friend of mine made me see how much we've become the "grownups" we once thought were so cool. What were we thinking? How many of us are actually doing what we thought we were going to when we "grew-up"? She (my friend) is truly a wonderful person. She's talented, creative, smart, and strong. All things that drew me to her when we were kids. Talking with her helps me to see things, once again, through "children's eyes". I'm so grateful for the friendship we've shared. She, as with so many others, have made such an impact on my life. And I have not forgotten any of them. This is for all of you. I can only hope I've touched your lives in some small way. And I am eternally grateful to all of you who have graced me with your childlike wisdom, and eventual adult wisdom.

Dreams lost and found..

I remember.

I remember when I found out I was pregnant for the first time (the day before my 17th birthday) I remember knowing, just KNOWING, that I was going to have a boy. I was anxious and scared and excited. I remember all the hopes and dreams I had for my little man, first day of school, HS graduation, college, marriage. I remember my father being in the operating room with me, crying when Triston was born, saying "he's beautiful" through a tear soaked mask. I remember the first time I got to hold that fat-pink-pig nosed-blue eyed beauty. I remember the way he smelled. The way he looked at me. I was so in love. For the first time in my life I KNEW what it meant to be in love. And yes, I remember how upset I was when he had cholic and was up screaming all night. And how I would question time and time again "Can I do this on my own?"

Triston always seemed like a difficult toddler. He tantrumed like nobody's business. Banged his head on walls. Screeching over and over for no reason. He did not speak (except he knew his alphabet, numbers to twenty, colors, and shapes all by 10 months old, and those were the only words he spoke until he was 3.5 years old) He was a very picky eater. He wouldnt touch fruit (except bananas) or veggies or meat. No matter how I tried to hide them he would find them and pick them out. I remember asking his pediatrician what was "wrong" with my son. In my gut I just knew something was wrong. Her response. "Dont worry, it's a phase, he'll grow out of it." She was wrong.

And I remember the day my world came crashing down.

"High functioning severely autistic savaant" The panel of doctors told me. After 18 hours over the course of 3 days in testing, they had come to their conclusion. "He will probably never learn to speak, or be potty trained. He'll probably never make any real friends, or have a normal connection to people." "Rainman! Oh my God NO!" That's all I could think. And the tears flowed. The panel got Triston set up to go to a special school for autistic 3 year olds. I remember being upset for WEEKS. My beautiful baby boy. Did I do this to him? Could I have done something differently? Will he ever have friends? Will he ever go to a normal school? Will he ever get married? College? Devastation cannot begin to describe the pain I felt. So I surrounded myself with library books. Spent hour after hour on the internet, researching, trying to find answers. Praying that there was still some hope. There HAD to be, right? What I found amazed and horrified me.

1 out of 150. You've got to be kidding me. How did I not know more about this (other than rainman) if there are 1 out of 150 children being Diagnosed all the time in this country with Autism. 1 out of 94. My jaw dropped. 1 out of 94 boys are diagnosed with Autism. How do doctors, teachers, parents, miss this stuff?? How did I miss it? There are more children born with Autism every year than AIDS, Juvenille Diabetes, and Cancer COMBINED!! Yet scientists STILL cannot positively determine the CAUSE!! Some people blame it on Mercury contaminating childhood vaccines. Some people believe it is because of preservatives and chemically altered sweetners and foods. Some believe it's genetic. Some believe it is a little bit of everything. And some just dont care WHAT caused it, just give our kids the services they need. The services are not cheap. There's speech, occupational therapy, behavioral therapy, physical therapy, etc.etc. the list goes on and on and on and on and on.... It could cost in excess of 3 million dollars in just therapies ALONE to care for an Autistic person. And to find services in some areas is a JOKE!! Not to mention you still have to QUALIFY! Just because you have a Diagnosis of Autism DOES NOT GUARENTEE that you will receive the services your child NEEDS. IT IS WRONG! AND SOMETHING'S GOTTA GIVE!

My dreams have recently been restored. Triston will be graduating Kindergarten next week. He is at the top of his class. He is the only Autistic child in his classroom of 25. Next year they want to put him in a combined class of 1st and 2nd graders. Their reason for this was the work was too easy for him this year. Next year 1st grade work will still be too easy for him. So with the mixed class he can still be with his friends, but he can do 2nd grade work to keep him challenged. This from the toddler they said would never talk, or have friends. THEY were wrong!

I am so proud of the progress that he has made. Between all of his therapies and how much he has to go, there are times that he works harder than most adults during a work week. He is one of the hardest working kids I know. And it's PAYING OFF!!! He and I have been through a lot with this Autism thing. It's been no cakewalk. But we are winning this battle.

I have children with Autism. And I could not be more proud!

I am. What are you?

I am a child who slipped through the cracks when I desperately needed to be saved.

I am a headstrong teenager that moved to a different state, all alone, to make it on my own.

I am a performer.

I am a friend.

I am a therapist.

I am a mother.

I am a domestic violence victim that fought back as an adult.

I am divorced and re-married.

I am the protector of my siblings and my children.

I am the oldest child.

I am a young, pierced, hair coloring, loud mouthed, woman.

I am not afraid.

I am not intimidated.

I am a mess (sometimes)

I am tired.

I am silly.

I am an advocate.

I am not afraid to ask for help.

I am unstable at times.

I am willing to admit when I'm wrong.

I am forgiving.

I am (sometimes too) trusting

I am not a push-over.

I am able to see behind people's "masks"

I am in love.

I am the haircutting, "dont hit your brother"-ing, let me kiss your boo-boo-ing, cartoon watching, fingernail clipping, potty training, sword fighting with plastic baseball bats, wife and mommy.

I am NOT a mother to mess with when it comes to people not treating my kids right.

I am a lioness with my cubs.

I am faithful in the Lord my God.

I am a baby Christian.

I am strong in my faith.

I am indecisive AND a decision maker.

I am a recovering drug addict.

I am NOT my mother's child.

I am hopeful.

I am forgiven.

I am a competitive dancer (or used to be)

I am a teacher.

I am a best friend, sister, wife, daughter, grand-daughter, stranger, niece, auntie, cousin, companion, and partner in crime.

I am no longer broken inside.

I am not beaten.

I AM triumphant.

I am NOT a victim.


Are you listening? (Part 1)

You're much bigger than I am. I'm even smaller than the other kids in my kindergarten class. The bigger kids beat on me. But I pay them no mind. They're not as tough as they think they are. You're fists are much stronger. They have no idea what it's like to live with you. They pull my hair and push me around. But I never cry. You always tell me people will think I'm weak if I cry. The teachers ask me questions. I'll lie for you. Only because I believe you when you tell me it will be worse if I don't. I keep waiting for someone to rescue me. The neighbors all do nice things for me, I think they pity me. They all know, you don't think they do, but they know. They won't say anything to anyone though. It makes me resent them like I resent you. They could save me, but they don't. Are they afraid of you too?

As I'm getting older my indifference is fading. I never cry anymore. I hate weekends. I'll be in the basement by myself with nothing to eat or drink. And that's if I'm lucky and you decide not to take out your frustration on me. I'd rather be alone. I found a box of matches and I've considered setting this whole place on fire. But I won't. My brother and sister are up there with you. I'll put up with you ONLY for their sake. But know this, if you EVER touch them I'll take them and run. I'll burn you down with this house. I will finally fight back. I swear it. My teachers send me to the school councilor 3 days a week now. They won't tell you the truth. They think I'm in here because my parents got divorced 2 years ago. But they know there's something else wrong. They see when I flinch if someone near me makes to sudden a move. My clothes are too small. I'm always bruised. And did you know that every day this week I've come to school with a busted lip? How long do you think they will let this go? I'm still waiting to be saved. But I'm starting to think nobody's coming for me. As more time goes on what little hope I've mustered has diminished entirely. I don't care anymore. People are stupid. Why should I care about them? My friends are discovering boys. The thought sickens me. It's your fault. He's now joined in. I'm his punching bag now too. I'm more than that. I laugh to myself when I hear him beating you. You deserve it. Now you know how it feels. But it doesn't last long. One or the other of you will leave and the one that stays home will take out tonight's fight on me. I've learned how to step out of my body now. I think about other things. Books mostly. I don't even notice when you've worn yourself out and walk away. I don't look like you. I never have. Maybe that's why you hate me? I'm still small. I have to be careful at school. There's a couple of girls there that like to hit me. But I won't fight back. Then the school would call you.

I've found new ways to feel. My wrists and arms are scarred up and down. I've started a new group of wounds. There's 360 on my left arm today. All fresh. Covered with gauze and long sleeves against prying eyes. I try to feel. Any emotion at all would be refreshing. But this is the only way. I'll substitute emotion for pain. Pain is easier than emotion anyway. It's instant. It hurts immediately, but it fades much quicker than sadness. I'll bottle up whatever I'm feeling from now on, until I can release it through pain. You complimented me on my dance recital. You cannot believe how talented I've become. Inside I laugh. I drank a bottle of Pine-Sol last night. It didn't work how I had planned so I drank 2 pots of coffee before my recital. My punishment for being caught would have been far worse than if it had worked. It was a dumb idea anyways, now every-time I clean I want to vomit. And it just re-affirms my previous thoughts that I'm just meant to suffer at your hands, until You decide when my life is over.

Don't underestimate me. You think I'm weak. I am not. Just because I was silent for years does not mean I was afraid. I am not afraid of your hands. It doesn't hurt me as much as you think it does. I will calculate and lean into the blows. It hurts your fists more than it hurts the back of my head. Go ahead, get in my face. Scream at me. I know that with enough crocodile tears you will lose interest. Although, honestly, I'd rather you just swing at me. Your words cut my heart, they make it cold, dead, and hard. I don't feel anymore. Once I had pity for you. Now there is nothing. It's empty. You are dead to me. You'll push me to the ground, beating me until I can hardly see anymore. I wont give in to the darkness, then you will think you have won. You'll kick me when I'm down. But I keep getting back up. If I wear you out first than I am the one that's triumphant here. The sweetened-stench of alcohol fills me with rage. But I can't hate you. Indifference is all I know. It's how I've survived this long. All that keeps me going is knowing that you'll not win. I have no hope. No dreams. No aspirations. You've taken it all away. But I'm still here. Still enduring the pain you inflict. Why? Is this my purpose? Why do you hate me so much? You're my mother. You're supposed to protect me. Mother? Are you listening?...