A little bird told me what my mother said

I just got off the phone with a long lost "aunt" who was very happy to tell me all of the drama my mother has been stirring up.

It seems as though I have been portrayed as the one who is "punishing" my parents.  By not letting them see their grandson.

Oh, if only I could take credit for such wicked deeds!

What she told me doesn't really matter, I know my mother and the twisted tales she tells.

Except....

I only really know what she says about other people, and the things she tells me to my face. No one has ever told me what she says about me. I have often wondered what she says to my siblings about me, given the vehemence that she spews about them and their spouses.

So it's interesting to hear how exactly I'm being demonized. And how she must rely on her other children, because I'm so hateful. I love that she portrays that I'm victimizing her.

I don't want to be the good daughter any more. She sucked the life out of me for too long. So perhaps this news is good, I'm keeping them on their toes. Nasty ungrateful child that I am.

And the funny thing is that I've just been asked by one of my siblings to "fix" a family situation that my mother got her hands into. I think that I've had the role of ego-stroker/hand-holder/ and "situation-fixer" for so long that no one even recognizes it. It's just what I do. It's what I was trained to do.

I am so glad that by some bizarre twist of fate I married a wonderful sane man, who was raised by loving parents and siblings. Because otherwise, I wouldn't even know that my family's behavior was insane.

I'm going to go into radio silence now, no laptop for me when I'm with my family....too dangerous. Those people do not respect any boundaries.

Don't expect anything from me until after next week. Unless I freak out and come home early.

No picture today, because how can you express "I hate my mother" with a picture?

Monday was my birthday, so we did what any 18 38 year old does in New Jersey...we went to Six Flags!

Actually Six Flags is a good amusement park for me because it has lots of roller coasters so I can completely ignore all the spinning rides.

I can't really write more than that right now, because I've been in one long gut-wrenching panic attack since yesterday morning. I don't dare use any of my borrowed pharmaceuticals, because I will need them shortly since Daniel and I are going up to spend time with my family.

Hence the panic attack.

I'm having heart palpitations as I write this and waffling between feeling like I'm going to faint or throw up. Head feeling all float-y like a dissociative state is coming on.

I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that I'm terrified of being alone with my mother right now.

(Hmm, clearly I've hit on something there because I started to cry as I wrote those words.)

You might remember that I recently told her that I could not/ would not take some furniture from her. Expressing my own wants/needs/desires with her never goes well. Well, now she gets me for 5 days without my husband to run interference and 3 days when my dad won't be there either to temper her slightly.

I just know payback is on its way.

And yes, intellectually I realize that I'm a grown-up now and I'm not under her control.

But seriously? She created all those buttons I have that she likes to push. I am her finest creation.

Yesterday, I felt so sick all day, and then I got so tired, like I had the flu. But I'm only sick in the head.

God, how stupid is this that I am physically ill FIVE days before I have to go see my parents?! I hate hating them. But I do. I hate them. I don't want to see them.

There, I said it.

I'm really glad none of you can see me blubbering at the computer right now. Bird on my shoulder, son downstairs playing with legos.

I don't know what to do except to just push through it. I'm not going to stop contact.

Oh shit, his lego creation broke. Let me leave my blubbering self behind and go be a Mom.

For Evan

In memory of a boy, Evan Kamida,  so close in age to my own, and in support of his mother, Vicki Forman. Here are my contributions to the Flickr group "Swingset Flowers for Evan Kamida":





It is but a small and insignificant gesture in the face of such a tragedy, but that is what we do here in this wide webby world... is it not?  Throw our little bits into the ring and together we form Community with a capital C, and support each other however we can.

Thank you to:

Jennifer @ Pinwheels

Crista @ Hyperlexicon

Kristin @ Autism Vox

Maddy @ Whitterer on Autism

And Mom-NOS

for being more eloquent than myself and saying what I am also feeling. This real and tangible grief that has walked beside me since I heard the news.

Worms!

photo by kusine.

Did I ever tell you that I have worms?

Vermicomposting, they call it.

Worms aplenty, I tell you. They eat all the cucumber peels, tea leaves and coffee grounds. And other organic matter as well, if we happen to have green and leafy things in the house. And I can vouch for the fact that they make the most awesome fertilizer ever.

I always wanted to be more sustainable and organic when we got a house, and lo and behold! Here we are...

So now I have worms in my basement, and a regular composter in the back yard. Ground up tires as mulch, rain barrels for my down spouts. I even feed the squirrels birds organic bird seed.  Oh! and my husband is putting in a patio of recycled slate that I scored when driving by a house that was being renovated. Now I can't say he doesn't do anything in the yard.

For the first time in a long time we are not surrounded by pesticides and other chemicals.

My family is actually (literally) breathing a little easier.

One of the  good things about living in the  more "ahem"... blue-collar part of  fancy-pants Montclair, is that my neighbors all have small yards and not so much use for Chem-Lawn and all the  pesticides/fertilizers that go with that.

Back when we were renting, the landscapers were at the complex every week, and they were always using some sort of chemical on the plants. The grass was way greener than what I have now, but you couldn't let the children play on it, because of the toxic chemicals.

Well, ok you can't play on my grass now either, but that's because of all the glass embedded in the dirt. Oh, and also I don't really have "grass" per say, more like weeds that I chop down regularly with my push mower. But hey, if you were to look at my house from, say, 100 feet up? It would look like I had grass.

So yeah, Worms.

Sense, proprioceptive and otherwise

Yesterday was a sensory day.

Daniel kept climbing on me. Grabbing me. Mauling me. Generally jamming all the pointy 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 alone 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 ending with "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 them on the floor.

Then I covered him with a fuzzy blanket and took the heavy cushion from our chair (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 an almost eight year old 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 then he tells me that he NEEDS the fan on because 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.