Sense, proprioceptive and otherwise

Yesterday was a sensory day.

Daniel kept climbing on me. Grabbing me. Mauling me. Generally jamming all the pointing parts of his body (of which there are many) into all the sensitive parts of my body.

In the morning it seemed like I was constantly peeling him off of me and admonishing him to leave me along and "Stop squishing me!"

At some point later in the morning, that statement finally sunk into my thick head and it dawned on me that he wasn't just being annoying and acting like a three-year-old. He was having sensory issues.

I forget, you know?

We have lots of issues that we deal with on a day to day basis, but I've gotten so used to them, that we deal with them on auto-pilot.

And to his credit, Daniel does try at this point to moderate and modulate his own behavior as much as possible.

Really, the anxiety is what has been most demanding of our attention during this last year, so any sort of "sensory diet" has fallen by the wayside.

We used to do organized "squishing" (proprioceptive) activities throughout our day, starting with "wrestling with dad" when he woke up in the morning and "snuggling with mom" when he went to sleep.

But lately, well, we just haven't had to do much of it at all.

So yesterday, when I finally decided to really pay attention to what my son's body language was so clearly saying, I took all the cushions off the couch, gave Daniel a pillow for his head and ordered him to lay down on then on the floor.

Then I covered him with a fuzzy blanket and took the heavy cushion from our char (like a toddler-sized futon really) and laid it on top of him so only his head stuck out.

At first Daniel was surprised, which just shows you how little we do this these days. But then a nearly blissful look came over his face as he felt the pressure and melted into the cushions. After a half-hour of squishing, rolling, and flopping he was  more like a nearly eight child and less like a three-year-old.

(Maddy has another tale of proprioceptive work over here at Whitterer on Autism)

But just now?

As I finish up this post?

My son says that he is cold, so I turn off the fan that is blowing on him, and he tells me that he NEEDS the fan on be cause his ears bother him when it isn't on.

There's always SOMETHING.

photo by Imagined Reality.

You're only as old as Wii Fit says you are

On the day we got the Wii Fit, it said my "age" was 29 years old.

I'm not ashamed to say I did a little dance.

But I've been getting older and older every time I get on the damn thing.

Still, I've logged hours more on it than anyone else in the family.

And I keep getting older.

Just like in real life.

Humpf.

Wait, I have a blog?

I took my 7 and a half year old to see Hancock yesterday.

For some reason I just really wanted to see it. I needed a movie aimed a little higher up the age ladder.

Have you ever walked into a movie theater with your kid, and sat down to see the previews and then thought as you munched  your popcorn, "I think I have made a horrible mistake."?

Those Dark Knight previews are scary.

The movie itself was fine. Full of swearing, guns blazing, and car-flipping violence. Daniel loved it.
But clearly it got to be overwhelming too, because he climbed into my lap halfway through the movie and stayed there until the end.

There appears to be no lasting ill-effects from the movie. He went to bed fine last night for once. We'll see if "asshole" becomes the lynch-pin of his vocabulary like it is in the movie. It certainly is for me.

I am still in awe that Daniel can handle movies like that now. He is actively trying to control himself. To go a little further. To grow up.

7 1/2 is a pretty magical age around here, snuggly still, but somewhat more reasonable. Able to be left to his own devices. I'm going to look back fondly on this age I think.

Yesterday was a very good day for us, and I managed to point out the things that Daniel was doing that I liked. Screaming like a crazy person seems to only frighten the boy, but does nothing to improve his behavior, so I'm trying something new. One day down, so far, so good.

How can nothing be so tiring?

Nothing's happening here.

Unless you consider Gardening something. Which I don't. It's just the latest obsession since I actually have a garden now, whereas before I just wished I had one.

Wishing was a lot less back-breaking.

Soon I will tire of gardening, but not before I have everything set-up the way I want it... I hope.

There are still lots of boxes everywhere. Opening them up and finding spots for the contents has proved problematic, so my new plan is to just keep them piled up. How long do you think I get to use the "we just moved in" excuse, before it becomes clear that I'm quite slovenly and lazy?

Anyway, in brief, this is what I've been doing lately...

Daniel and I planted these, (from seeds!):

and I paid someone to plant these:

and then I hauled 1250 pounds of these in my little car
(and promptly suffered a relapse of my carpal tunnel from carrying all those bags of rocks):

Daniel picked these to plant:

And I picked out these:

And I really hope some of these plants are perennials, because I really don't want to have to go through this insane planting frenzy every year.

And basically, Daniel and I are just going back and forth to the garden center and Home Depot, and trying very hard not to be sarcastic and snarky to each other.

Oh, and we found a bird. Yup, you heard me... all those years of trying to get wayward animals to follow me home finally paid off. He flew out of the trees and landed on my arm.

Really.

No. Really.

I think his name should be Kismet, but I have a feeling it will end up being something like Bazooka, or Cybertron, or Sushi.

Here he is, the newest member of our family:

I think this little guy might actually keep me from wanting a dog for a little while.

four to eight weeks for delivery

Thanks to the indomitable Alice Bradley and her witty post ... and my paraphrasing of it to my husband ... said husband announced today that he will get up super-early to stand in line at the Nintendo store so I  we can have a Wii Fit mock me us  too.

I just wanted to put that out there in case he forgets he said it.

Nevermind that getting the Wii Fit was supposed to be his Father's Day present. Who knew he hadn't pre-ordered it from Amazon?

We are exceptionally lazy about gifts to each other these days. A typical conversation about presents goes like this:

me: I really like [insert item here, usually a fair-trade eco-friendly completely useless knick-knack].

him: You want it for your birthday?

me: Sure. That would be nice.

him: Just order it for your self then. Happy Birthday. (Birthday could be anywhere from 1 to 7 months away)

He usually wants the latest thing with wires inside and wireless connectivity, or this:



which, if you are an idiot, you order online and wait 2 month for it to arrive... or you just go to Kmart and buy it for half the price.

We fall into the idiot camp and are still waiting to taste the deliciousness of pancake-y puffs of goodness.

uh oh. Mario Galaxy appears to be done.... I have to go make breakfast now.

Man I wish I had some pancake puffs.

Damn this money-based society

Typepad is so anal.

They expect me to pay for this pathetic excuse of a blog EVERY month. Even when I don't post!

Ah well, they have their money  now.

And June is over.

Good riddance June. Let's see what July brings.

Pre-Summer panic attack

Every now and then I flip out about the things I think Daniel should be doing by himself by now.

He's 7 and 1/2.

Nearly 8.

Eight feels like a milestone.

Definitely NOT a little kid anymore. So I am being kind of hard on him at the moment, reminding him that he's not a three-year-old any more and that it is entirely inappropriate for me to WIPE HIS ASS.

And, I feel like I shouldn't have to fetch his snacks. They are all within his reach, and I am perfectly comfortable with him getting them himself.

I'd also like him to unload the dishwasher, and learn how to make a grilled cheese sandwich so he could make ME lunch.

Maybe I'm asking for too much with those last two, but I'm kind of panicky at the moment that I do too much for him, and that I'll ultimately stunt his independence.

Plus, I'm really lazy. Did I mention that before?

What I'm finding though is that whenever I ask him to step up and do more, he interprets it as a punishment.

Maybe it would work better if I wasn't yelling and pulling my hair out and working up to the whole martyred-drama-queen.

School is out next week. I think I need a plan. Maybe more sedatives too.

Or vodka.

Heat-addled

Yesterday the power went out just as Daniel was getting off the bus.

I don't know about the rest of your children, but my child needs electricity like fish need water. So it was a bit um, stressful? around here yesterday.

Luckily you can still watch (a few) Spongebob cartoons on a laptop even when there is no power.

And you can play with a Gameboy of DS.

And you can eat all the popsicles in the freezer.

And that's about it.

I am woefully ill-prepared for power-outages right now. I don't know where our flashlights are, and while I was scrambling around looking for them my husband said, "but we have plenty of candles - we can just light those."

"Do you know where the matches are?"

"No. But we have a gas stove. We can just light them from that."

"Sorry. The pilot light on the stove is electric. No power, no flame."

He didn't believe me. It's cute when they go check something for themselves and find out that you're right... how they don't come back and say "you were right", they do this sort of half head bob of acknowledgeable.

So we ended up our evening playing Monopoly, which as it turns out, is not made more enjoyable by being branded with Spongebob characters.

I'm not sure how people dealt with the heat before air conditioning. Which is weird, because I grew up without air conditioning. All I remember is being sprawled out on the floor in front of a fan. I guess that how people used to deal with the heat then.

And then the power came back. But the house was so hot that we ended up sleeping in the basement on the floor. Which was actually really nice if you could get past all the basement smells and the cement floor.

At least it was cool.

So cool and comfortable, that we all slept late. Waking up just in time to run to the bus... which we chose not to do.

I'm keeping Daniel home today.

Wish us luck.

Last week's adventures

I wrote this last week with the intention of posting it when I finally emerged from my post-parents zombie state. Ta-dah! I have emerged and here it is:

It's Friday.

Tomorrow my parents arrive.

Earlier this week my dad and I had a conversation via email about the dining room set bedroom set. He gave me the dimensions and I measured the room and told him to tell mom that I was sorry, but that the furniture wasn't going to fit.

He wrote back to say no problem, they'd have to figure out what to do with it, but don't worry.

It all sounds so nice and normal doesn't it?

Of course I knew that there would be fallout about this, because of the 20 years that my mother has been trying to foist this furniture on me.

I refused to call her and walk into whatever she had planned, but since they are coming tomorrow, there was no way to get around today's phone conversation.

Here it is for your enjoyment and edification:

(me) Hello?

(my mother) How are you?

Oh, fine. Tired.

Yes, ME TOO. I don't think you understand how much you have hurt us because of the bedroom set.

No I guess I don't. Why don't you explain it to me.

.....(long pause where she doesn't talk. An old trick of hers that used to make me cry.)

Is there a reason why you don't want it?

It doesn't fit in my house.

But that doesn't explain why you never took it before.

We have always lived in rentals.

I have just been so sick about this. You don't know. I'm trying to get over it, but I just don't know if I can.

....(long pause where I don't say anything, because, well, she taught me that trick)

Well, I hope it doesn't prevent you from having a nice time at my house this weekend.

I hope so too. I just  don't know. Your father and I are just so hurt by this. (This is another tactic of hers, when I don't respond to her, she brings my father into it.)

Well, I'm sorry.

You didn't think of this before?

What? Whether it would fit in the room or not? When the house was empty, I just assumed that it would fit, I honestly never thought of the fact that the room only has one wall without a door or a window. When dad gave me the measurements it was clear that it just won't fit.

Your father and I gave that bedroom set to you as a wedding present because we thought it was SPECIAL to you. That it meant something. That is why this is all just so hurtful.

Oh. I see. (ok, WTF? I checked with my husband and he doesn't remember them giving it to us for our wedding. Besides what kind of wedding gift is that? They bought it at a yard sale when I was five.)

Yes. Now you see how hard this has been. And how terrible it has been for us for all these years that you have not taken it. It just seems to me that we are growing apart. And I think you know what I mean. (This is another classic move of hers. I always used to rise to it and tell her how much I loved her and all she does for me[?])

Oh, I don't know about growing apart, I think we are just all very busy.

No, that's not it. Your family should be the most important thing to you. (And again with the thinly veiled "you don't love me")

Oh, believe me it is.

Ok... had enough? It just continues along the same lines. Very difficult for her, hurtful, so sad, been wronged, ungrateful etc.

And then, twenty minutes after we hung up, she called back. This time because she forgot to ask me about something.

Midway though her question to me she blurts out:

"Is there something we have done to upset you about the furniture?"

I just wasn't going to engage her on this, so I just said no and then talked to Daniel while she was still on the phone. I'm quite proud of my self for refusing to be sucked into her mind games and guilt-trips. I hope that this bodes well for the actual visit.

Present tense: I'm still decompressing from the visit, but I have learned a very valuable lesson. Which is: pharmaceuticals are very very good. I have a long history of self-medicating when I was around my mother, the problem was that I wasn't using the right medication.

Mental Health Day(s)

Rather than simply ignoring the blog and feeling well-honed Catholic guilt about it, I thought I would be all official and tell you that I'm going to take a few mental health days.

Just until next week, when my parents have come and gone and I uncurl from the fetal position.

Just one little side note:

I always thought that when I moved from an apartment to a house, I would have lots of extra space.
But somehow, in my 2 decades of moving from rental to rental, I have managed to accumulate more stuff than I could ever possibly hope to cram into this house that I now share with the bank. I just want to know how that happened.

Oh oh oh... See, now that I told you I'm going to maintain radio silence, I have all these things to share...
I'm going to try something new with my parents when they come. Instead of beating them to the  punch  by being all negative about my life,  so I won't have to hear them  say  only negative things but rather agree with my negativity.... THIS time I'm going to be  positive, as in "Look at my  wonderful house, isn't it wonderful?"

Honestly, I'm not sure I can do it. The negativity runs deep in my family, BUT if I can, then perhaps I can pull off the "sincerely shocked look" when they go through the house and tell me how much they hate it.

And also, I'm going to take a pill. Maybe 2.

I'll let you know how it all works out.

Daniel's poem

Here's Daniel's poem I was talking about earlier:

The Apartment

I have memories of mopping down the stairs
    mopping each stair, the landing pad,
    all of them.

I remember making contraptions,
    at least two,
    in the room where I stand.

I remember having strange dreams of falling
    off high concrete sidewalks, down the stairs
    only to be caught by my mom's hands.

And I also remember having a dream
    (less exciting) falling from the top of the stairs
    into my mom's hands.

I remember the table, with the plastic wrap stapled
    and where my desk used to be. Now marked only
    by a poor childhood drawing of a Decepticon and
    a crossed-out name in permanent marker.

I remember learning, only from a book,
    how to use chopsticks. And amazing my mom
    when she came home.

I remember a very young childhood memory
    at Halloween after trick-or-treating
    wanting to play but urged by my parents
    I swung up the stairwell.

I remember in the basement, the one room there,
    that was covered by boxes and boxes of things
    which also at the same time covered up
    my woodworking space.

I remember in my room taking out my couch,
    turning it into a bed, but sitting at the lower side
    bouncing a super-ball
    and calling it "The Super-Ball Championship".

But now after these years the stairwell lies empty.
    The traditional space where my games originally were
    is now only marked by a tearing-apart origami volcano.

The one basement room still lies covered in boxes,
    still with treasures waiting to be found,
    just as my childhood.

But now an empty apartment.

In the midst of it all

When Daniel went to the old apartment the other day with his dad, they were reminiscing about all the things that happened while we lived there.

I'm not sure exactly how that conversation went, but the end result was a poem from Daniel listing his memories.

They left the poem for me to find when I went back to the apartment by myself.

Isn't it weird how love and pride makes your heart skip a beat?

Sometimes Daniel asks me if I think about him while he's at school, and I ask him back if he felt the hug that my heart was sending to his. When I read his poem, it felt like that...like my heart was reaching out of my body to find him.

I can't transcribe the poem right now - he's in the next room. But maybe tonight I'll post it for you.

The insanity continues around here. The apartment is almost done, I clean out the last of the trash today, and we scrub it from top to bottom on Memorial Day.

And then my parents come.

This is not a good time for me.

But once they leave, I can curl up into a ball, and then slowly emerge as a person again. I'm trying very hard for everyone's sakes to not get too miserable this time.

We'll see how that goes.

Sunday

Found

while excavating the apartment.

A small slip of paper on the floor in a corner of the bedroom:

(upon seeing Optimus Prime die)
Liesel, when you have your funeral, I won't be going. My kids and my husband will be going, but I will stay home and clean the house. I do like chores.

Clearly, my husband wrote this down for Daniel after that deeply troubling scene in the 1988 Transformer movie, when Optimus Prime dies. Isn't it nice that my son thinks of me when the leader of the Autobots meets his demise?

I am so glad that Daniel likes chores. Apparently he won't start doing any until I die.

Also, note that my son does not envision himself with a wife, but rather a husband. Hey, what do I care? At least I'm still getting grandkids!

Catching up

Damn, this house is kicking my ass.

While I've been quiet over here, back in my non-virtual life we've taken down the trees in the backyard, bought a piano (a piano!)
installed rain barrels,
cleaned up a flood in the basement,
started composting with worms,
and mowed the lawn with my new push mower.

Did I mention I have 70-odd feet of hedges that I weeded and trimmed with a pair of manual hedge clippers. (well, until my neighbor saw me anyway and gave me his electric hedge trimmers - imagine how pathetic I must have looked for him to say, "No really, you keep 'em, I don't need them. You've been trimming that hedge for what? 3 hours already"

Yes, truly pathetic.

And I still have to clean out the old apartment.

Things look very suckish for the rest of May but I'll try to post a little more frequently regardless.

____________________________
On the kid front, during one of the many times Daniel announced that I hate him, he proclaimed that I was going to throw him out the window.

I swear, I have only ever thought about throwing him out the window, and even then in a purely metaphoric manner.

So when I protested that I was not going toss him headlong through pane-glass, he told me that I wanted to kill him.

Yes, this is what it's like in my house. If he had a British accent it could be a long lost Monty Python skit.

So of course I tell him that I don't want to kill him, that I love him and I want to protect him.

His comeback?

"You've already killed me."

"Daniel, what are you talking about?"

"Emotionally. You've already killed me emotionally many times."

That's when I swiped the cat's Prozac and curled into the fetal position. Because of course he's right. there have been many times that I have done exactly what my mother did to me. It's what I know. And it's what comes out of my mouth when I get stressed out.

This child will either make me a better person or give me a nervous breakdown. It seems to be his goal in life.

pre-mother's day agida

photo by Mr.Tea

My mother is a narcissist.
As you know.

Mother's Day tends to be kind of hard for me. What with the whole "Mother" stereotype thrown about everywhere, and the obligation to honor her as a goddess of nurturing and love.

It can be upsetting.

So....

I had to buy Mother's Day cards today.

No big deal.

Hallmark makes it so easy with all their ready-made cards.

But I have the hardest time with the cards.  Try as I might I can never find one that says:

Mom,
You kind of suck.
Glad we're not together on this special day.
Happy Mother's Day

Not that I'd be able to send that card anyway, but it would make me feel better to see it in the store at any rate.

Today at the CVS I became ill looking at all those Mother's Day cards.

Not, "ooh these cards suck" kind of ill...

More like, "ohmygod I think I'm going to faint, uh, or vomit, holyshit I'd better get out of here quick so I can hurl in my own home instead of CVS"

Actually physically ill.... because of Mother's Day cards.

Since I obviously couldn't stand there much longer, I decided to go with the "ironic" card choice.

No "simply stated" for me this year, instead I picked the card that was meant for the mom most unlike mine.

I think the card says something like:

For you on this special day,
You are always there to share in the good times
and to provide a shoulder to lean on in the bad.
You always seem to know just what to say to make me feel better,
and you bring joy to all our lives with your generosity of spirit and joyful outlook on life.

Happy Mother's Day

Or something like that. I can't look at it right now, because I still feel woozy.

I thought that understanding the narcissist that is my mother, would make these things a little easier. But instead it feels even more toxic than before. Maybe because I was in denial and tried to placate her for all these years?

My mother won't catch the irony in the card.
Which is good, I suppose.

you can't make this shit up

Sometimes my conversations with my mom are so bizarre that when I think back on them I feel as though I must have made them up.

The other day I spoke to her on the phone and mentioned that one of our trees was dead and I was going to have to have someone come to take it down.

Here's the conversation:


So mom, we're going to have to have one of the trees at the house taken down, because it seems to be dead.

Oh, really? Well it can't be that big, that won't be a problem.

Uh, no mom, it's taller than the house. It is going to be very expensive.

Taller than the house? No. Our tree in the front isn't taller than the house.

Well this tree in the back of my yard, is taller than my house. It's a Norway Maple. Right now it has these small yellow flowers on it.

Norway Maple? Never heard of it. Maples don't have flowers. It must be like the tree in front of our house. Ooh I hate that tree and all the little things that come off of it.

I'm pretty sure that it's a maple. I does have maple leaves. Those are distinctive. I'll make sure to ask the tree guy when he comes though.

Yes, you ask him, because it can't possibly be a maple. I've never heard of a maple tree with flowers before.

Uh, ok....


See what I'm dealing with?

I've told this story to several people in the past few days, and each time they ask if it's for real. And yes, unfortunately it is. But when I am alone, and I think back on it I feel incredulous myself. Can she possibly be that removed from reality?

This is nothing new in my relationship with her. In the past I would just give in to the bizarre nature of it and figure that I made it up, because, damn, it just does not make sense.

Oh, and the tree?

50 feet tall and a NORWAY MAPLE which ohmygod has FLOWERS.

In honor of Arbor Day

This is my tree


Stately, majestic,  potentially shade-giving.

Dead.

Well mostly, anyway.

Turns out that when the branches look like this


its not a good sign.

And when the tree only has twelve leaves - well the future does not look bright for this specimen of acer plantanoids.


And so with a bucketful of irony I need to get an estimate on just how much damage this dead tree will do to my pocketbook - on Arbor Day.

Just like you I had no idea tomorrow was Arbor Day until I started calling tree surgeons to get someone to come out and take a look at it.

One helpful women actually told me that she didn't have anyone to come out tomorrow because, you know, it's Arbor Day. Tree surgeons get to take the day off? Am I missing out on some festivities? Maybe ones with fried dough? Because I could really use some fried dough right now.

Clearly my environmentalism is only a charade, cleverly managed to keep up with Ed Begley Jr.

Updated to add: Arbor Day is different in every state! Who knew? No wonder no one ever pays attention to it! Tomorrow is New Jersey's Arbor Day. I think these guys need a better PR person.

The short good-bye

It was a little over a year ago that my oldest cat, Atreus was on death's door. 

I was so happy when he began to come around.

He perked up again, and it seemed that he would be with us for a long time to come.

And then, last Friday he collapsed.

I guess it was some sort of attack. He had been fine. Right up to when he collapsed.

He had been with me since I was 21 years old - and then he died in my arms.

It was all such a shock - I couldn't believe he was actually gone. I held him for the longest time just wishing that he would start breathing again.

When you live with an animal that long, the connection you have doesn't go away so easily. I know that I'll hold him in my heart for a long time to come - and it feels just like when he would cuddle up next to me at night.

I need to find a nice bush I can plant in the yard to bury his ashes under.

He was such a nice cat.

Goodnight, Atreus. I'll miss you, buddy.

rocks, birdbaths and white elephants

The movers came, our boxes are here,

blah, blah, blah....

I'm happy and all that, but hear me out about this...

Back when I first left my mother's house, she told me she would give me her dining room set, let's just say, my childhood bedroom set.

A nice gesture right?

Perhaps in some families.

This woman has held this bedroom set (bought at a yard sale) over my head since the day I left her house. Every time I moved she brought it up in a nasty way, about how I was snubbing her and didn't love her because I didn't take that bedroom set. I have never had room for it, not to mention the fact that it is big and cumbersome and space has always been an issue.

So here I am after 2 decades of staving off her hostile gift. Now I have a house. So I MUST take the bedroom set.

Except that once again I have no room for it. And I still have no desire for it either.

[I just checked out my  analytics account to make sure no one from my home-town is reading the blog. She stresses me out.]

I do sort of have room for it, though.  But when I just spoke to her and mentioned that I didn't think it would fit and that we should probably measure the pieces before I spend $200 to cart it here - she responded with the silent treatment.

I am almost 40. I feel like I should have a say as to what comes into my house. I don't want to browbeaten by her yard sale find from the seventies.

Actually, I don't want to be browbeaten by her at all anymore.

But if I come right out and say that I don't want it, then I know I'll have a huge "ungrateful brat" fight on my hands that could last for months. I was really hoping to finagle it so that she would realize that it won't fit easily in the house. Then it would be her idea and I would be let off the hook somewhat.

Except that I'm not dealing with a rational person, and this isn't about giving at all, but rather about having her stuff in my house so that she can tell me what to do with it and where to put it and how to use it. And about having something to use against me.

[As I'm writing this I have to keep getting up to go outside because my son and the neighbor are digging up the backyard. Right now they are making a "stream leading to a birdbath" which is a path of rocks from the gutter-spout to a hole in the grass lined with more rocks. It's very cute and they are having a blast, but they need me to keep going out to tell them exactly how much I like it. "I love it!" "Wow, I really love it!" "Gosh, you guys are like professionals!!"]

So anyway, I'm screwed. I don't want to get into it with her, but I don't think there is anyway out of it. I guess I've just been delaying the inevitable all these years.

She's so god-damned DRAINING.

I'm going outside to dig up rocks with my kid.