Hater Humpday #3

Welcome to Hater Humpday, a weekly theme created by Dawn at This Side of Typical.  And now a week’s worth of pent-up angst and venom shall come spewing forth, like a Gallagher show.

 

 

 

1.  I hate that my son’s older friend told him all about Justin Bieber

The zombie apocalypse begins with Bieber.

when they were in the car together on the way to Dallas.  He tells me how Justin Bieber is the best singer IN THE WHOLE WORLD, and Justin Bieber loves to sing and he’s really, really, REALLY good.  He doesn’t even know who Bieber is, because he saw a long-haired rocker dude the other day, and said “hey, he looks like Justin Bieber”, even though he is clearly the anti-Bieber.  Every time he starts his Bieber tribute I start doing the nervous junkie neck-scratch.  I’m convinced that every time he mentions Bieber, Bono sprouts another gray goatee hair.

2.  I hate myself for teaching my kid the “Guess what?  Chicken butt!!!!” joke.  One can only imagine what I must have been thinking the day I thought that was a good idea.  On the way to summer camp this morning, ten times.  Last night after dinner, fifteen times.  He doesn’t get that you’re supposed to surprise someone when you do it.

3.  People with special orders.  Out of courtesy to the rest of us that are in a hurry and, thus, eating crappy fast food, can’t you just pick the goddamn pickle off the Big Mac yourself??

4.  I hate that Joe Q. Workerbee has to shoulder the burden for a company’s success or failure, like when the supervisor boss-man has a meeting to tell people that they need to increase their production, take fewer breaks, increase their numbers.  This happened to my friend this week, and it’s infuriating.  Numbers can be down because of the economy, trade issues with China, war, or some political issue in some corner of the world that we have nothing to do with.  Why should the downtrodden, who are trying to scrape by in their meager existence, be made to feel bad because they spent 3 minutes talking to a co-worker about the last episode of The Voice???  Suck it, middle manager pariah, suck IT.

5.  Hackers that send viruses to your computer that causes your email account to send an email to everyone in your contact list with a link to some crazy, bullshit website.  If you got an email from me, and it has a link to some site, it’s not from me.  Sorry about that.

Have a great, Bieber-free, rest of the week.

Good Things Come From Freaking Out on Your Mother-In-Law

When my mother-in-law visited us a couple of years ago, she stayed for four months.  I know, that thought would send most of us right to the liquor store to stock up on martini mix and Peppermint Schnapps.

But I like my MIL.  She was born in Texas and, although she left when she was 14, she still has an accent and speaks with those weird sayings like, “fixin’ to.”  She’s quirky and weird, and not very sophisticated, but likes to laugh her ass off at weird crap on TV, like the really boring teenage game shows on MTV.  And she loves to piss away hours playing virtual slot machines on the computer.

Connor was 3 1/2 when she was here, which is the time when he was exceptionally hyper and very challenging.  We already knew he had ADHD, but she would tell us all the time that “there’s nuthin’ wrong with that boy, he’s just all boy, that’s all.”  This was not helpful in any way because it made me feel like I was so bad at this parenting thing that I was struggling to handle a typical “all boy” child.  But like lots of her weird quirks, I ignored her.

Then one day Connor was really challenging and difficult, and she said “you just need to get a switch off’n the tree and give his bootie a good swat, then he’ll learn how to behave.”

That would be when I lost my shit and started screaming at her and told her she didn’t know shit if she thought beating my child would somehow magically make his disability go away.  And apparently MIL’s can drive you right into a state of hysteria when you are already on the edge because of your kid, because I also told her she was in MY house, and she had some nerve being in my house and criticizing my parenting skills because I don’t spank my child, and that she should be praising me for raising her grandchild without those outdated methods of beating someone into submission.

It’s probably not a good idea to freak out on your husband’s mother, but when you are dealing with something so much larger than yourself, and you are pre-diagnosis, and you have people that are just full of bad, bullshit advice, then sometimes you just Lose. Your. Shit.  And so I did.

Anyway, we ended up making up later and smoothing things over, but she conspicuously hasn’t been to visit since then.

So the other day, for some reason, I was thinking about my MIL and her last visit.  And I started thinking about how I wouldn’t put up with her bad advice and hurtful comments because I knew in my gut that they were wrong.  Yet we all see a myriad of doctors and therapists for our kids, and I know that sometimes what they’re telling us feels uncomfortable or wrong in our gut, and we do it anyway, because we can’t exactly just scream “BULLSHIT” right into their face.  And we do it because they are the “experts” and we’re supposed to listen to them because, if we were so damn smart, we’d be the experts and be making all that money.

When we discussed this issue of Connor wanting to sleep in our bed with his doctor, he advised that we set up a reinforcement schedule to reduce the frequency.  All that is just fancy talk for promising him prizes for staying in bed.  In a way this felt wrong to me, because he seems genuinely in need of comforting and security, and that is what parents are supposed to provide.

But we followed the doctor’s advice, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

In my last post I described the struggle of getting Connor to stay in his own bed.  You read that, right?

Well, I was telling someone I work with about the bedtime struggle, and he said his son climbed into their bed at night until the 3rd grade.  His son is “typical.”  His son is 11 now, and the other night during the storm he even came to their room.  They kept a sleeping bag in their room and, once their son was too big to accommodate in their bed, he could choose to sleep in the bag on the floor.

“It’s just a phase, don’t be so hard on him.”

And that felt right.  In my gut.

As of last night, there’s a new Buzz Lightyear sleeping bag on my bedroom floor.  I don’t know what time Connor climbed into it last night because, for a change, I didn’t get woken up.  What I know is that we all woke up happy this morning, which is really all that matters.

From now on, I’m going to have to start living more by my gut than by my head.  If I won’t even let a family member give me advice that doesn’t feel right, then why should I let anyone else?

Now that's a face you can trust.

And Then There Was a Storm

Medication changes are fun for the whole family.

8:30 p.m.  “It’s past your bedtime, get back in bed and go to sleep!”

8:40 p.m.  “I know you love our bed, but you’re not sleeping with us (again), get back in your bed!  No, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you just because I don’t want you in my bed, you sound like a bad date.”

8:42 p.m.  “I’m serious, stay in bed or you will start losing toys and limbs.”

9:00 p.m. [sleep]

12:38 a.m.  “Huh, wha-…NO, you cannot sleep here, go back to bed.”

12:39 a.m.  [loud crying] “Stop crying, you are fine.  I know you miss your family, but it’s not like we’re in another country, we’re just down the hall.  I’ll explain what a country is tomorrow, please stay in bed.”

12:41 a.m.  [howling] “OHMYGOD you have to be QUIET before you wake up the whole house!  NO, you are still NOT getting in my bed!  No, no I DO love you, I just don’t love it when you’re in my bed, kicking me all night.  No, nobody is going to another country, at least not tonight.”

12:42 a.m.  “Okay, I’m sorry I yelled.  Yes I will rub your back if you go to sleep.  Seriously, you must go to sleep.”

12:43 – 12:56 a.m.  [back rubbing, clockwise circles, gradually decreasing pressure, transitioning from entire palm to just fingertips, staring at large world map on bedroom wall]  Hmmmm, Turkmenistan is right there by Iran and Afghanistan, but you never hear about them.  I wonder if the Turkmenistanians have Al Qaeda problems?  I will have to google Turkmenistan tomorrow.

12:57 a.m.  [sleep]

12:59 a.m.  [THUNDER]  “WAAAAAAAAH!!”

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Things I Learned When the Air Conditioning Went Out

This past weekend it was 102 degrees each day, which meant it was the perfect time for the air conditioning to go out.  And so it did.  On Saturday, it started making strange grinding noises and then went out during the late afternoon.

We called around, and couldn’t get anyone out until Sunday morning.  Fine.  We toughed it out that night and had every ceiling fan and box fan in the house going at full speed.

On Sunday morning the AC guy gave the motor a “jump” and said he’d have to get a replacement motor on Monday.  By 11am it was off again, and could not be jumped back into life.  By 5pm, we decided we’d be getting a hotel room for the night since it was 96 degrees in the house.

I learned some very important things during the great air conditioning outage of 2011, and they are:

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1.  It can and will get hotter inside the house than it is outside the house, despite having insulation and five fans.

2.  In terms of survival, it’s better to live somewhere cold than somewhere hot when modern conveniences cease to function properly.  If it’s cold, there are several options for survival, including starting a fire, layering clothing, generating body heat through exercise, huddling together for warmth, etc.  If it’s hot, you’re pretty much just fucked.

It's better than being hot...

3.  Boob sweat is the most disgusting of all the sweat produced by the body.

Not actually me. I was way sweatier than this.

4.  ADHD overrides Asperger’s when it comes to staying in a hotel, especially if the last time you were in a hotel was when you were two-years-old and you don’t remember it.  There was mad dashing around the house to pack, followed by jumping up and down and pleas of “can we just GO now?”

5.  There are lots of things to do in a room that is 14×10.  First, you can amuse yourself by jumping from one bed to the other, while pretending the floor is hot lava.  You can also turn on and off every light in the room 15 times, just because the light buttons are different than home.  There are also numerous doors, cabinets, and drawers to be opened and closed repetitively, as well as a window with curtains you can pull open and closed until your mother’s face turns so red from annoyance that it appears it may pop right off her shoulders.

6.  It takes enormous restraint to not beat a child senseless who has just lifted his ass off the couch cushion in the lobby, and let a huge, disgusting fart rip…3 feet from the refined looking Asian lady also sitting in the lobby.

Between this and the boob sweat, all we needed was a banjo and a 'possum.

7.  Setting the thermostat for 62 degrees in your room will make you giddily happy, and will result in peaceful slumber.

8.  Hotels do not get the full array of cable channels, and at 8pm the only choices for a child are the local news station or How I Met Your Mother, neither of which seems to be interesting or appropriate for a six-year-old.

9.  A grown woman who has narrowly avoided heat stroke can lay on a hotel bed in her underwear, happily playing Pumpkins vs. Monsters, for a solid hour.

It's just like a good book, but without the words and the thinking.

10.  Packing an overnight bag when you are about to pass out from heat exhaustion means you will be wearing brown pants, a fuchsia tank, and a white shrug to work the next day.

11.  I won’t pay more than $1.69 for a loaf of bread, but I’ll pay almost anything to have a comfortable temperature.

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The next time we move, in addition to considering the cost of living, unemployment rate, school ratings, housing prices, and crime rates, we will also be considering the average daytime temperature and whether we could survive outdoors in a tent for more than 20 minutes.

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Every click saves a puppy.

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Our Kids Aren’t on the Spectrum, They’re Budding Celebrities

Good news, people, good news!  There may be absolutely nothing wrong with our kids.  They may very well be completely normal.  I have good evidence to support this hypothesis.  Really.

I was reading an article about The Foo Fighters “tour rider” for the contract covering their upcoming tour, which makes a complete mockery of other celebrity tour riders.  You can read about its awesomeness here.

This article inspired me to visit the great and powerful oracle, Google, to read about other celebrity tour riders.  After much research (about 10 minutes), I have discovered some amazing similarities between celebrity demands, and the demands of our cherished little spectrum cherubs.

Take a look at what I’ve found:

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Stimming AND a facial tic!

Katy Perry

Sweet, sweet Katy.  She likes to kiss girls with her cherry chap stick, but she no likey my favorite flower, the carnation (and I no likey her song, Firework, which I hate more than the smell of canned meat, but I digress).  “Carnations are NOT ALLOWED in her dressing room.”  Now I won’t say that Connor has any strict flower preferences, but he doesn’t like curtains.  He threw an hour-long fit once when I hung new curtains in the dining room.

Also, when being transported via limo, the driver is not to speak to the client or guests (social skills deficit), is not to look at her through the rearview mirror (lack of eye contact), and is not to touch or move luggage or bags (obsessive compulsive tendencies).  I’m going to do some more research on youtube, and be on the lookout for stimming behavior.

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Van Halen

Van Halen’s tour rider has the important stipulation that there will be “M&M’s (WARNING: ABSOLUTELY NO BROWN ONES).”  Uh huh, my kid prefers to  only eat green ones, if possible.

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"Meat just makes me really uncomfortable. Cocaine, not so much."

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50 Cent

Mr. Cent stipulates “THERE IS TO BE NO BEEF … IN THE VICINITY OF 50 CENT’S DRESSING OR CATERING ROOMS.”  He doesn’t even want to smell that beef, so DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT bringing it anywhere near him…or he will meltdown like nobody’s business and bust a cap in yo ass!

Food aversions, sound familiar???

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Metallica

These guys demand that “BACON – VERY IMPORTANT THAT BACON BE AVAILABLE AT EVERY MEAL AND DURING DAY.”  Wait, nevermind, that’s totally normal.

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Yeah, totally normal...

Prince or ^^*%$ (I don’t have his particular symbol, so use your imagination)

The purple pimp of Minneapolis says “All items in dressing room must be covered by clear plastic wrap until uncovered by main artist. This is ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.”  He doesn’t like people to touch his stuff.  And if memory serves, he also licks his hands…

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Russell Crow

When Russell was filming “Cinderella Man”, Russell “had to have black curtains in his dressing room so he wouldn’t have to see anyone and no one could see him” (no eye contact).  We don’t want to look at you anyway, Russell.

As you can see, our children’s “quirks” are really not much different from the important demands of these very normal and functional celebrities.  It’s very likely that our children will someday be riding in limos, demanding only square crackers, not round ones, and refusing to speak or make eye contact…just like they do now, minus the limo.

Or, most celebrities are on the spectrum.

Nah, it’s the first one.

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Hater Humpday

Hater Humpday is like shooting ducks in a barrel.  The hardest part is narrowing down which offenders will be featured.

Let me describe Connor’s weekly social skills playgroup.  I dread going to this every week, because the parents sit around in the waiting area taking great pains to not look at each other or speak.  Ironically, it’s a SOCIAL SKILLS playgroup.  See what I’m getting at here??

Yesterday, the jackhole dad of one of the kids had one of the kid’s toys, one of those cups with a ball on a string, and you’re supposed to throw the ball up and catch it in the cup.  It looks exactly like this:

Anyway, jackhole tossed the ball up and missed.  Me, trying to strike up conversation and be friendly, because I’m a total asshole like that, says “yeah, that thing is hard to do, Connor is better at it than I am.”

So, Captain Craptastic says, in a very serious, uptight way, “oh, I’m very good at it, I just missed once.”  And then turns his head.  Right, uh huh, and I suppose you also get all of your underwear from K-Mart and your dad lets you drive the car in the driveway on Sundays, right?

I wanted to drag his bloated carcass down the hall, because he would really benefit from attending the social skills playgroup with his son.

So, there’s also a mom and dad pair there.  They are trying to be all cutesy and put together, and their other NT kids are being fussed over and they are generally over parenting the kids.  And I just couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle because, really, it’s all such bullshit.  You know their kid is chewing off the furniture legs at home, and they scramble to find a pair of clean underwear in the morning just like the rest of us families out here in the world.  They be frontin’.  Meanwhile, I’m trying to keep it real up in the hood, but they’re not feelin’ me.

And then there’s this other mom.  Her son has autism and is more profoundly affected than most of the other kids.  I totally feel her pain, I do.  But the odd thing is that every week, she turns her boy around and tells him to “say hi to Connor and look at him when you say it.”  She’s trying to enforce the social skills he’s learning.  Oddly enough, she has NEVER said hello to me, not even once.  I implore you, good people, isn’t that weird?  It is, right?

So, in short, my hater humpday is devoted to social skills playgroup, but on a broader level, to other parents.

See, I went from living in a fantasy world of having a baby and thinking there was this magical “sisterhood of motherhood” that awaited me.  But it didn’t.  What awaited me was a bunch of competitive, neurotic train wrecks that were constantly one-upping each other with tales of how little Blaine could write his name when he was two, or how little Bobo has been accepted to the most prestigious pre-school.

After diagnosis I thought I would find some kind of motherly bond amongst the spectrum parents, akin to that of combat soldiers.  Nope, another delusional creation of my fatigued brain, because what I’ve found are antisocial, downtrodden parents who have no interest in socializing.

Jesus.  If your kid pees on my floor and tries to steal the dog’s kibble I’m not going to judge you.  I’ll probably just tell you about how one dog steals my socks and eats them whole, the other dog obsessively licks one spot on his leg for hours on end, until it is raw and I have to take him to the vet, and how Connor likes to smell the toilet paper after he wipes.

It’s the house that cuckoo built, and we all live in it, so can we not just get along??

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Shout-Outs and Props

Most days it’s all I can do to even get a post put together, let alone make the rounds and read and comment on all my other favorite blogs.  I would have to say that it’s a mixture of being busy with other commitments and easily distracted by shiny objects.

My bloggy friends.

But you guys…you guys are DA BOMB!  Not in a Hiroshima way, but more of a Gap Band kind of way.  You guys come here all the time and read my crazy ramblings about chicken and mom-whoring myself at Super Target.  And then, THEN you leave all these kind and snarky thoughtful words for me.

I LIVE for those comments, you know that?  And it amazes me that a bunch of strangers can find each other in the cyber-universe and offer so much encouragement, support, and friendship.

Since I don’t always make it over to read and comment every day, I thought I would mention a few sites that I really enjoy, and highly recommend to others.  I kind of stole this idea from Lady Estrogen, but I don’t think she reads my crap, so I’m not a-scared of her.  She is one funny chick though, so you should definitely stop by and check her out.

I read lots of other blogs, so I’m just going to mention a few of the newer or previously un-mentioned ones here:

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Mama’s Turn Now

A special thanks to Sharon, from Mama’s Turn Now, for featuring my post about sexual predators on her Weekly Wrap Up Sunday.  She’s got a great blog where she talks about her son’s Aspergers, as well as her daughter’s asthma.  It’s a very well written and thoughtful blog, loaded with information, so be sure to stop by and check it out, and drop her a comment.

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The Suniverse

This chick is funny.  And twisted.  Funny and twisted are an awesome combination!  Go there and read…and laugh.  It’s one of my favorite new blog finds, and I know you will love it.

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LA Juice

She called me “darling” and said that I’m “the best”, so now I’m kind of her bitch.  But that’s okay, because if I was going to be someone’s bitch, she would definitely be the one!  She (Juice) is a fellow Los Angelean, attorney, and snarky funny blogger who writes about celebrities and random craziness in her life.  Good stuff, people, good stuff.  Go there, she will make you laugh.

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Karacteristic

Kara is a fabulous mom blogger, with a daughter on the spectrum.  She is terribly hilarious, especially when drinking, finding baby birds hatching in her houseplants, or bitching about tortillas.  She is one of my favorites, by far, so pay her a visit.

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Four Sea Stars

You probably already know Lizbeth, over at Four Sea Stars, but the fact that she writes about her kids (one of them is on the spectrum) in such a way that I snorted out laughing at work, well that says a lot.  I don’t snort easily, I’ll have you know.  They just left for vacation, and this first vacation post is the offending snort-maker.  Check it out.

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It’s just my way of passing on some of the kindness and support you have all given me.  I will have to remember to do this again, because there are so many great blogs out there.

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Apparently I Need Social Skills Training

On Saturday we had our usual trip to the Holy Mecca (Target Superstore).  Since Connor was with me, we made our required jaunt to the toy aisle.  A boy and his mom came down the aisle, and the boy said “hi Connor.”

“Oh, you guys know each other.  Were you in the same class”, I asked.

Connor:  “No.”

Me:  “Does he go to your summer camp?”

Connor:  “No.”

Me:  “Are you in a street gang together?”

Connor:  “No.”

Finally the boy told me they both went to the Y after school program, at Mediocre Primary School (not actual name of school).

The boys put on Ironman masks, grabbed shields and swords, and started playing.  They were having a blast, and were playing so nicely together.  I was impressed.

I turned to the boy’s mom, and said “they’re playing so well together.  I’m surprised, because Connor has ADHD, but they are really getting along.”

She said her boy had ADHD too, and he usually plays well with younger kids.  I asked what grade he’s in, and she said he’ll be going into 3rd grade, which will be at the school next door to the primary school.

“Oh, what a shame, they won’t be seeing each other at the after school program this next year.”  This is my special secret code for “let’s be friends so our kids can play together.”

She said, “oh, I guess not.”

It was like a date, where the guy leans in for a kiss, but gets left hanging in mid-air.  Geez, it was just going to be a peck.  I wasn’t going to slip you the tongue or anything.

But then my wing-man tried to help me score by saying, “Mom, can I go to his house and play?”

The other boy said, “you can’t today, because our house is too messy.”  Cute, right?

So I started laughing and said, “well then I guess Connor would feel right at home there!”  Hahahaha, get it?  My house is messy too.  I extended the sisterly olive branch by revealing that I, too, am a frazzled mom with a messy house. We are simpatico, you and I.

She still didn’t bite.

So I step it up a notch and say, “they are really having fun playing together, we should get them together for a play date sometime.”  Come on lady, don’t leave me hanging out here like some stalker douche-mom.

“Oh yeah, we should.  We better get our shopping done and let you get yours done.  Come on Boy, let’s get going.”

Shutdown.

The boys continued talking and having mad love for each other out into the aisle, and even as we walked away.

Me, I was totally rejected.  I mean, I showered that morning, and my shirt didn’t have any stains or anything.  I felt like a dirty mom whore.

You shut up, Sean Connery, you don't know me!!!!

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I gave a secret little glance back as we parted ways.  I thought about trotting over to ask for her number, but I was too afraid she would decline.

When I told the hubs about my miserable attempt and making a new mommy friend, he gave some great guy advice.  He said, “you should have just offered your number, so you wouldn’t have to feel like you were a freak for asking for hers.”

Right, but I didn’t think of that, because I’m not very smart.  And I prefer that people just pick up the hints that I throw down.  And because I want to be a big baller, and big ballers get numbers handed to THEM.

So here I am, feeling like a big loser because I can’t make a mom friend.  And also feeling like other moms are snooty bitches.

It’s probably more of the second thing, right?

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Weekend Linkup

Today I’m over at the Red Dress Club’s Weekend Linkup, where I’ve linked one of my favorite posts.  Check out some of the other great blogs there!

 

Flat Flannery Friday #8, A Murder in Blogville

You may have noticed there was no Flat Flannery post last Friday.  Or maybe you didn’t.  Doesn’t matter, because I’m telling you there wasn’t.

She never came back from her sabbatical with Rachel.  She was missing.  I searched high and low.  Well, mostly low.  I mean, she’s flat, right?

Then this came in the mail several days ago:

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Murder.  Or REDRUM, if you’re of the horror flick persuasion.

But who?  What kind of monster would do such a thing?  Someone that drives a Honda.

I put my crafty and stealthy detective skills to work.  Wait…stealthy or stealth??  Whatever, I put my super duper totally awesome detective skills to work.  There.

And look what I found:

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Look closely at this picture I found in the blogosphere.  You can just make out part of the H, in Honda, on the steering wheel.

Let’s get another view of that photo, one with the rearview mirror:

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Jillsmo, from Yeah. Good Times.  I should have known.

She even disposed of the body.

I should have seen this coming, especially after the snake incident.  But hey, I was kind of sick of her anyway.

And so, friends, in memory of Flat Flannery who travelled near and far: