JNerd: If your son asks you if he can have it, I already told him no.
Me: ::look:: What?
JNerd: C-4. He wanted C-4. So, just for the record, I already told him no.
Me: "!!"
T, who says time to slow down on the Mythbusters
Wonder why the kids on Glee look so good? It's because they are not kids at all!
I am not some giggly teenager (but I do have one, though giggles are far and few between, maybe a "SQUUEEE" once in a while). That being said, I discovered an artist that I like, the song has potential, it is catchy. It just so happens that the song is by Mark Stalling, who plays Puck on Glee, the breakout new dramedy on Fox this season. Turns out Mark was in a band, called Jericho, and they have an album. Sadly, this song is not on the album. But I'll keep trying. This song seems radio-worthy to me. See what you think. (also, if he makes your heart go pitty-pat, don't fret...he is actually 26, playing a teenager...whew!)
No wonder our teenagers are so insecure, when they are being compared to actual adults! It took me years to "bloom" and it really wasn't until after high school that I came into my own. I guess if they actually cast young, awkward kids the show wouldn't be as interesting, since their perfection in performing is much of it's appeal. Still, we don't have to like Hollywood's practice of casting adults to play teens.
T, who admits to watching glee, and will probably even buy the cast album
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So you didn't have time to watch 3 hours of the Tony's? That's ok, you can simply listen to Neil Patrick Harris do the finale and you'll know most of what went on. ...minus the crotch action from Rock of Ages and Hair, but hey, you can't have it all. (but... if you click on the links, you can watch, because I am just that kinda gal)
T, who loves me some musicals
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I have always looked younger than my age, a fact that was much to my chagrin in high school. It was horrible in high school when the other girls matured and grew boobs and nipped waists and long, flowing hair, and became, well, women. And me? I looked like I was 12. For a long time. I would cry and lament my fate, that even as a teenager I still looked like a "little kid." (my daughter is going through that now, and I empathize). But.
I got the last laugh. Because now, I just stepped into my 40's and have been told, over and over again, that I look nowhere near my age. I have to admit, I freakin love that. Keep saying it! I was a bit of a late bloomer and am sexier now than I ever was in my younger days. And of course, there is the confidence I have at 40. If I could go back in time and be that little Senior again? I would rock the joint. But, that only happens in Disney flicks, right?
So, all that to say, I am pretty comfortable with myself these days. How I look, the condition I am in, and my age. That is, until last Saturday night. JMan and I went to see Star Trek (in IMAX, thank you, which is another post altogether, about how we went to one theatre, were lied to about the size of the screen, got a refund and hightailed it to a real IMAX theatre) and had some time to kill before the movie started. We ducked into a sports bar to have a pint. We bellied up to the bar, climbed on the stool, flashed some cash, ordered our poisons, (Fat Tire for me, Guinness for him), and this is the part that kills me. JMan was carded! I was NOT carded. I was pissed, and seriously.
Granted, JMan looks like he is 16, and has always looked really young. In reality, he is 42, thank you very much. And the numbnuts bartender carded him. AND NOT ME! Now, it seems to me if he was smart, he would have carded us both, just so he could get a bigger tip. But no. He looked at me, and dismissed me, the jerk. He asked my husband for his I.D. because he doesn't even look old enough to buy beer!
JMan tried to play it off, tried to placate my ego by saying it was due to my confidence in ordering, but the damage was done. I realize that I am not 21 anymore. I don't want to be 21 anymore. But dammit, I also don't want people to think I am some Dixie Wetsworth cougar preying on some innocent (and yeah right!) young man.
So, to the bartender at Champs Bar in Irvine? You might want to have a bit more tact when you card those you don't think are old enough to drink. The more I think about it, the more ticked at you I become. Yes, your tip reflected your treatment of us. If I had more guts and wasn't such a nice person, you would have gotten even less, like nothing. But I can't do that, I tipped you the least amount possible, and it was because of your insensitivity. I get that you are busy, and you are trying to serve everyone and you are just doing your job and all. You have to check those you are unsure about. But for chrissakes, you need to at least card the woman if you are going to card the man she's with! Didn't they teach you that in bartending school?? It's only like Bartending Rules 101. Or did you fail to graduate? And just one more thing?
Bite Me.T, who will think twice when ordering alcohol in the future
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Social Media. Admit it, it's a time suck. You know it is. There are 400 bazillion places to sign up your name, and you have to anyway, so people don't snarf your really cool moniker. Because, you never know when someone will take your uber-hip name and go and post on kick-yer-puppy sites or I Hate The Blind and then people come to your blog and leave you hateful comments and you have to explain that, "No, that wasn't me, it was an impostor who was pretending to be me, I would never hurt sweet little innocent puppies (they're so cuuute) and blind people rock" but if it was weasels, that would be a different story, because weasels are mean and fast and will probably get in your bed and bite your butt, so that's why they don't make good pets and why this post isn't about the care and keeping of weasels. But if it was, it would kick ass and be the best post ever. But it's not.
And social media like twitter, Facebook, a thousand and one Ning networks, blog directories, blogs, blogs, more blogs (I pretty much only read the stuff from my Blogroll anymore and the people who leave comments here...sorry, I know you are a kick ass writer, or you wouldn't be in my Google Reader, but I just can't keep up with that crap. It just sits there, mocking me and multiplies exponentially. Once in a while I read a post or two, but they just keep adding up, kind of like Octomom's progeny. So know it isn't that I don't love you, I am just freaking overwhelmed!) Besides, since the bloggy-bloggy thing is a community, I want to be able to comment on the blogs I read, and there's only so much time in the day. CPS frowns on ignoring children in order to read blogs. Apparently, kids gotta eat. Regularly! Who knew? If you want to be in my blogroll, let me know, and I will send you the proper forms and I assume you have a notary near you? And can mail chocolate? As you know, I prefer the dark stuff.
Facebook, I don't really know why I am there. Twitter is my love, and I hang there pretty regularly, and kind of feel like when I visit Facebook, I am cheating on my boyfriend. Only he doesn't know it? And you know, this new guy, the one I am steppin' out with? I am beginning to see he really isn't that hot, in fact his teeth kind of separate in the middle and he yaps about football all the time and constantly asks what my name is, and gets it wrong, a lot. Today it's some Celtic thing and tomorrow he calls me a hippie name...and he mentioned something about my True Nature being Vulcan, maybe he is brain-damaged. And he always wants to know what I would take to a desert island (which is strange conversational fodder and I think he is feeling me up out because he is going to kidnap me and take me there and then I'll have to escape using dental floss and bamboo to make a killer raft because I have seen Gilligan's Island and Survivor, thank you) and he's always yammering on about people I don't know and don't care about, but they know my friends or something. So apparently I am supposed to care that they are getting groceries or upset that Dollhouse is being cancelled or something. So, yeah.
There was this one awesome thing he told me, quizzed me about What Random Object I Was and I ended up being a Fishbowl, which is totally not me, I am not all see-through and shallow...
"A clear sphere, your purpose is to hold something interesting, without being so interesting yourself. However, if you weren't there, another life would go down the toilet...."
So then he says:
You're stranded on a desert island. You brought one item, and now you're really irritated that you brought it.Facebook was also all flirty and told me I could answer "a weasel" to every question about the Random Object, so I tried that, too... then I was a Drinking Straw:
"An excellent suck-up. Despite your festive exterior, you're ultimately hollow inside. However, you're bendy, and that flexibility will help in your search to find the chocolate milkshake to fill your hollow recesses."
I like chocolate. And milkshakes. I wonder if weasels like milkshakes...?
T, who clearly needs to spend less time online
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I entered this contest and I am supposed to write a post about my Mom Logic. Thing is, I can't say for sure that I actually have any! I took Logic in college, and barely passed with a C. Sure, I can argue. But when it comes to actual cogent argumentation? I was clueless. Turns out, God was just preparing me for living with my family! (either that or he was just beyond bored one day and decided to mess with me) What logic lives in a house with autism? What is logical about fear of a flushing toilet? Going into conniptions at the sight of a spider? Refusing to leave the house for fear a small dog may maul you? Arguing to wear the same dress, again, or not going out? This is just a smidgen of what I face as a mama in this house.
To be fair, it's not all me. You cannot reasonably discuss fears with someone who is afraid. And you can't convince someone (especially if that someone is 7 years old and has autism) to do what you want them to do, just because it is the logical choice. Little beings are not reasonable. and autism is even less so. Talk until you are blue in the face and what you will have left is...a blue face! (and maybe some interesting pictures for your blog...no, I don't actually have any pictures of me, blue in the face, but if I did, they would be interesting..)
I think I still have the potential to be a very logical person in there somewhere. Before I had kids, I had a brain, and as such, I had logic. But with each child, my brain, it shrunk. And now, not only can I not remember things my husband tells me we discussed (I think he may be trying to Gaslight me, send help!) I can't wage word war on my children and come out on top. I know the logic is still there: when I am away from my children for any length of time, my brain bounces back and I can have coherent conversations. The numbness that is my brain's self-defense mechanism against the crazy wears off.
At my worst moments, with my children I have been known to be very illogical. If the Father of All Logic (no, not Socrates, Mr. Spock) lived in this house, he would cock his eyebrow at me, with the sardonic look he was known for on Star Trek and tell whomever would listen how "highly illogical" I was. And then I would probably get pissed off and get all up in his grill, tell him to take it back because I would be so high strung with him watching my every move and all, and he would end up havin to use that Vulcan nerve pinch that he does, the one that makes everyones' eyes roll back in their head, knees buckle and pass out? And well, that would suck thank you very much!
If Spock was in my house, my son would be so thrilled, there would be no living with him. As I write this, there are no less than 10 Star Trek episodes on the DVR. And that is after I have pared them down!) Also, my oldest daughter would be thrilled to hang out with Spock, I think he would "get" her in a way that no one else does. She isn't that much into the emotions as much as the cold, hard facts of life. Some days I think I am the weird one, and everyone else in my family is the norm. And technically, by the definition of "norm" they would be normal, the majority of my house. So, I am the crazy one. Yeah, I can't believe it either.
Case in point: Exhibit A, Bring On Da Crazy! I don't think that screaming as though I am throwing a tantrum (which I kind of really wasn't, just wanted my daughter to get what she looked and sounded like..I swear. WHAT?) is a very logical approach to an out-of-control child. But there are times that nothing else works. I come up empty and throw a Hail Mary pass. Just like almost every other Hail Mary in sports history mine doesn't work either. I was hoping she would laugh, instead she just gave me the weirdest look, the one where I have no idea what is going through her head. Then she threw herself on the ground and amped up the volume. As if to say, "HA! I win this one, woman!" I backed off, because, Yeah. The ground is hard! I guess I just wasn't committed enough.
Need more "evidence"? I have blogged the interactions that I have with my children as well. How logical is discussing pooping robots, zombies and quesadillas in the same conversation? (certainly hope hands were washed before eating!) Or the 
non-sequitur that is my son's idea of social exchange. How do I maintain any semblance of sanity and logic in the face of the comments he makes? There is no rhyme or reason to my motherhood, some days.
I mean, logical thought when your son has just mooned an entire construction crew in line at McDonalds (who thought it was incredibly funny and egged it on)...I challenge you to find some! I know I certainly couldn't. I wanted to find a deserted island and a margarita! (Jimmy Buffett, where were you when I needed you? Probably on some boat somewhere..where it was 5 o' clock, dammit...) I wanted to fall through the floor. Instead, I calmly took our food to the table and we ate. Now that's not logical. I could have gotten the food to go so that prying eyes wouldn't bore holes in the back of my head, as they wondered what the HELL kinda mother was I, that I let my son show his butt crack to the world? (in my defense, he was 4 then, hadn't been diagnosed with high-functioning autism then, and hasn't done it since. He is 10 now).
My family defies logic. (except for my oldest daughter, JBug who is very logical, at least on her end). But that presents its own set of problems. She is also a teenager, and they have a brand of logic that someone over 30 just can't comprehend...mainly, you are wrong. If you question this, read the last sentence again! Period, that's the end of that. With her reasoning and lack of emotion sometimes, if I didn't know better, I would think she was a Vulcan.
And all of this is why having Spock over would just never work. JBug and he would be like Mendel's pea experments...alike, but normal people wouldn't be able to understand them! And of course, they would gang up against me, on some issue or other. So I am sure I would get all emotional and they would cooly tell me how illogical I was being, and my daughter would inform me the argument I am using for her to load the dishwasher is a fallacy and I would pull my hair out and threaten to jump off a bridge. (Just kidding on those last two). Just an aside, I DO NOT recommend allowing your teen to take formal Logic, unless you just like feeling stupid a lot... I mean, I can argue with the best of them, but how do you argue LOGIC? She thought she was so smart, calling me on my "invalid" arguments... then I wised up.
I just reminded her..I am Mama. I invented arguments before she was born, thank you very much. And, Mama wins in the face of, kicks butt on, trumps any logic that is in that book she is studying. Yup. When she gets to be a mama, then she can use the same ace in the hole. Until then, suffer baby!
So, going back to the beginning, my non-logic works for me. You can't learn my brand of logic from a classroom. Socrates didn't teach it, and if he did I am sure he would have gone mad. To outsiders, it would appear my methods may not work. I can live with that. I reserve the right to do whatever the hell I think works. Cause I'm the Mama. And Mama Logic is whatever I say it is. Today, I think it's about pooping. And robots.
Your turn... what do you think is your Mom (or Dad, or Gramma...) Logic? Tell us in comments...
T, who figures it's enough
This was a post I wrote for the Mother of All Bloggers Contest, and when if I make the Top 10, I am going to need you all to vote for me! So cross fingers, toes and let me know you're out there!
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I have been after my son to get his hair cut, but he wasn't having it. Whether it was personal preference, autism and hating change, he just was not agreeing. Until yesterday, when he said he needed a haircut:
"I want a mullet!"
Me: "A WHAT? I don't think so!"
him: "pleeeease? I want a mullet!"
Now, I remember the mullet, from back in the 80's, and John Stamos and Rick Springfield were hella hot...(oh admit it, you wanted to be part of Blackie's full house on GH,and didn't you wish you were Rick's Jesse's Girl??) huh. Guess that was just me...at least when I was 17. But that was then,and this is now, and my son isn't a wedding singer, and doesn't have an 80's cover band. And really, is he just asking to get his ass kicked?? Of course I didn't agree to the mullet, even though I polled twitter and some masochists told me to let him get one. But...hair is about self-expression, so I let him do whatever the heck else he wanted, while I sat biting my nails nervously. I was quite surprised. Here is the before and after
this is before, I think he's under there, somewhere
this is after, look, you can see, he has eyes!
It's a bit short, but it will grow. And anything is an improvement over what it was!
T, who can see her son again!
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For four days now, I am pretty sure I have been dying. No one will tell me, but I know. It started with a high fever and body aches and has mushroomed into this cough that I am pretty sure is consumption. you can't fool me, I saw Moulin Rouge, and I know what she died from...she did a whole lot of coughing beforehand, too! So I am pretty sure that they are just humoring me, in this house. That's why they walk around on tiptoe and bow to my every whim. "Shhh! Yes, get her some orange juice, she won't be this way for long!" I know the way things work.
My youngest already has begun replacing me. When I oozed out of bed to help her into hers, something I have not been capable of doing for days, she started screeching at me:
"No, get away! I don't want you! You're a monster, you're evil! You're an alien! You're an imposter!"
Now I know I didn't look very much like myself, with flaccid, ill-kempt hair and hollow eyes, but I don't think I looked like a pod person! Of course, I am not 7. With autism. So what do I know? [this is where the picture, the one that shows me in my current state of disarray would go. I chose not to put it there. You are glad. Trust me.]
T, who hopes you will come to my funeral
My children are always having these conversations right out of Clerks or Big Bang Theory. The kind that make you shake your head and wonder, "What the hell was that?" I can never, ever do them justice, but they surely make me laugh.
Overheard:
JBean: This car is more advanced than Star Trek. It has automatic door locks.
JBear: The door is more advanced than your brain. You can't compare a self-sustaining spacecraft to a car.
JBean: My brain is smarter than...Star Trek..
JBear: Technically, the Enterprise is artificial intelligence, it has a personality. The episode where the Enterprise was going to be destroyed, that's where it was revealed it had an artificial intelligence..blah blah blah Ginger
JBean; No, it doesn't, it's not alive! It doesn't breathe!
JBear: Right,but that's what artificial intelligence means. It's smart, but it's not alive.It's a machine. It's artificial..(launches into a ten minute technical explanation of Artificial Intelligence..blah blah)
[pause]
JBean: Your brain isn't alive.
circle back to first statement...
at that point...I turned the music up in the car...
T, who really likes loud music, I must since I listen a lot
Today I was making dinner and my son was goofing off, sort of getting on my nerves. Asking for a snack and whining about being hungry. Finally he said, "What CAN I have??" So I said to him
"You can have a poke in the eye with a sharp stick!" Thinking that was the end of that. He comes back with a bamboo skewer and points to his eye. "Right here." he says.
Talk about feeling like crap. I have to watch my sarcasm.
T, who really needs to think before I open my mouth
My favorite day of the year? December 26th
Why? Because it's....over! It is wonderful to get up in the morning and know I have nowhere to be, nothing to do. And the fact that the kids are happy, well that's just a bonus.
I hosted J's family, about 15 people in all, for dinner (potluck, I am not stupid!) and present opening. Unfortunately, I didn't take a single picture! It was a lot of fun. And a lot of work. I earned my rest, between food, cleaning, wrapping and getting ready. J was a huge help, thank goodness.
So I woke up and wii played.
Can you tell from the picture what the favorite present was this year?
We are having a great time. I won't be singing in public anytime soon, though...
T, who is glad to be DONE
I used to be a writer. Really, I did. I came here every day and wrote something, and edited it, and hit publish. I would see it there in print and I was a writer. But lately, besides being busy (because isn't that always a great excuse) I have sort of been avoiding the writing. I know, you want to know why. Here's the bottom line:
I think too much.
No really, I do. I don't do feelings. Sure, I feel a smidgen of frustration, or joy, but I go past the negative emotions, preferring to dissect them in my head. I write about them, process them and whittle them down to the size of an ant. Then I stomp on them. But they get killed before I ever feel them. That used to work, but now I am more aware that I have those feelings, and well, they have to go somewhere. Where they go is anxiety and irritability, and I am tired of feeling tired.
So I have been writing less, and making myself feel the emotions instead of analyzing them, by writing about them. I know it sounds crazy, but it really makes a difference for me. I don't say, "What do I think about that?" any longer. Now I ask myself, "How do I feel about that?"
Thinking and analyzing emotions aren't the same as actually feeling them. And they bottle up, coming out sideways. It makes me a terrible mother, because the only way to deal with the stress I am under every single day is to numb out. And it took me a long time to realize I do that...because I DO feel something. But mostly, I feel anger. And for the most part, that anger is unexpressed. And I have realized that the knot in my stomach, my shoulders and my neck is just repressed feelings: powerlessness, disappointment, fear. And, because those aren't powerful emotions, I let the anger coat it like armor. It feels safer.
Sarcasm is an ego defense. It is a way to deny what is going on around you. Keep it at arms' length. Makes it safe. And Wit is just Sarcasm with a college degree.
Let's get this straight. I am absolutely not quitting. I am still writing, still blogging, still around. I am just around...less. As I journey through this new territory, I just have less energy to create. But I fully expect that once I have come far enough, it can only improve my writing. So I will be posting, just not every day. Know I still love you all, and still read your blogs. I just don't have the time to comment as much as I did before.
In the mean time, I recommend the new Wally Lamb book, In the Hour I First Believed. It is very good, as good as I Know This Much is True.
T, who feels....yeah.
Why I am voting NO on Prop 8
1. To God, there is no hierarchy of sin. From a Christian point of view, whether you steal a paper clip, or cheat on your wife or are gay, it does not matter, sin is sin. Would we create a constitutional amendment to say that men couldn't sleep with someone else's wife? Or that you can't call in sick to work and then go to the beach? Why THIS issue? I think we need to spend more time tending to our OWN marriages.
2. Also, the Bible tells us that we DO NOT judge those outside the church with our measuring stick. They don't understand, because God has not opened their eyes. We are not God. It isn't OUR job to change hearts, it's God's job. And legislating morality is not how to change hearts. Loving people, for who they are, and accepting them, while still presenting the truth is how to do it.
I have written you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people— 10not at all meaning the people of this world who are immoral, or the greedy and swindlers, or idolaters. In that case you would have to leave this world. 11But now I am writing you that you must not associate with anyone who calls himself a brother but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolater or a slanderer, a drunkard or a swindler. With such a man do not even eat. 12What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside? 13God will judge those outside. "Expel the wicked man from among you.- 1 Corinthians 5:8-13
3. 60 years ago, blacks and whites couldn't marry. It was illegal. Denying rights to a segment of the population simply because we disagree with it? Doesn't seem loving or Christian to me. It seems like fear-mongering. Separate is NOT equal, and almost 50 years ago that was upheld. The Bible was used to support that fallacious argument, as well. Time to stop the hate.
4. I have a brother in law who is now legally married to his spouse. They do love each other. As a Christian, it is my job to love them, while letting them know I wouldn't make the same choices. Where would Jesus be? I wonder if he would be in the middle of a gay pride parade helping those who need him the most? He met people where they were at. Jesus didn't silently judge people; he loved them. They won't believe they are loved until they stop feeling judged.
5. As Christians, our divorce rate is no different (and some say higher) than those outside the church! It is over 50%. Until we fix that in our own midst, who are we to tell others they can't be married? I can tell you my brother in law has been with his spouse longer than J. and I have been together. Until the church can practice what she preaches, maybe she needs to spend more time tending to the issues within the church and once those are straight, she can decide what to do outside the church. Protecting marriage is done by actually STAYING married, not semantics about what marriage IS.
6. In Biblical times, men could have MANY wives....why don't we protect that marriage? I see a lot of cherry-picking here, and it bothers me.
So tomorrow, I will be voting against Prop 8 and I hope you will join me.
T, who just wants to do the Right Thing
There is a culture war going on...some think if you live in a city, you aren't a Real American. Sadly, these are presidential candidates and government officials! Is this ok with you? When did it become unamerican to exercise free speech? Or disagree with those in power? For those who don't get cable...you have to see this clip!
So are you wondering if YOU are a real American? Take Jon's test:
T, who thinks we must live in the Twilight Zone
I am really behind on Bloggy Housekeeping (not to mention regular housekeeping!) and need to give thanks to some and props to others. So...here we go:
From the Bon Bon Gazette I received the Kick Ass blogger's award...thanks 
Hellokittiemama! I appreciate the vote of confidence!
The rules:
1. Choose 5 bloggers that you feel are “Kick Ass Bloggers”.I choose my own, and because I never could follow the rules, I choose 6:
Marshella presented me with
The Charming Award
The Rules: Leave the following message on your post when you pass the award on to their chosen eight blogger buddies. “These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”the adventures of leelo and his potty-mouthed mom
And my friend, 2TooManyHats, has tagged me. As if you don't know enough about me, now I have to find seven inane pieces of information that you probably could care less about...but I am a good sport, so here goes...
There. Go.
T, who wants to give an award to EVERYONE
I expect to be spending more time on twitter now...and I can actually text, with a built-in keyboard. Before my phone had me picking between 3 different numbers, and it was awful! I will do a review in a few days. For now, it seems pretty ok...small annoyances, like I can't find a twitter client, but that's the price you pay for early adoption, I guess. I like most of the features, it is easy to use, and so far, haven't found it to be laggy. The GPS can't find me in my house, but the Google Maps portion works well. It's pretty, maybe not as spare as the iPhone, and evokes shades of the Sidekick, but I still like it.
Oh, and
That was a teaser.(we went to the San Diego Zoo yesterday... pictures and post forthcoming)
T, who says, Monkey Butt!
I hear all the time from mothers who tell me about the errands they run. I think it is par for the course, part of Motherese, the Mother tongue of Mothers everywhere. We talk about bedtimes, and bathroom habits and what errands we drag our kids on. I listen in envy as a mother tells me, "We went to the bank, and then I had that thing to return to the store, and I needed a windshield wiper blade at the auto store and we got the car washed, and on the way home we stopped to get groceries!" And I always ask, because I am a glutton for punishment, "Where were the kids in all of this?" And the reply is something along the lines of, "Oh, they went with me, they looooove errands and are flexible to whatever needs to be done!" And that's when that familiar feeling wells up inside of me, and I want to laugh or cry or something between the two and can't decide which. Because? That never happens in my house. Sorry. Couldn't hear your reply over the laughing...
For as long as I can remember, or at least since I have been running errands with kids One errand is usually doable. Maybe this is part of the autism, maybe it is just the particular makeup of my kids. Two is pushing it. Three?
Sometimes, I forget this, and the results aren't pretty.
Today, after the meltdown over the Logic class with JBug but that's another story, for another time the kids had an appointment to get their hair cut. We have a wedding tomorrow and they were both due to do the hair thing. 
They like the hair place, so that went well. Then I had to swing by our church on the other side of town to drop something off quickly. I had also promised JBug that we would try to find her a dress for the wedding, so against my better judgment (isn't it always? This is where I go wrong...) I decided we would make a trip to the store. It's not a loud store or particularly bright, but there are lots of racks of clothes, and little kids get bored easily.
I can't accurately represent what went on at the store, except to tell you that at one point, while I was quickly checking the fit of one of JBug's prospective dresses, JBear had coerced JBean to bite herself on the arm, and then told her to bite harder, and she did! I think her middle name should be Lemming. She of course, hurt herself, started crying, was angry with him and hit him hard. This occurred while I was 20 feet away for about thirty seconds. This doesn't count the loud, loud voices that they use, which make me cringe and I can imagine people cursing me for my children.I get it... sometimes I curse me for my children!
You know the Very Quiet Cricket? My kids are more like
The Extremely Noisy Pests
I had promised them smoothies if they could hold it together at the store. THAT didn't happen. So the smoothies didn't either. We came straight home, amidst the wails of JBean, who was beside herself that she missed out on the smoothie, and angry with me that I stuck to my word. Of course, driving home was a picnic; everyone loves 
ear-piercing, bloodcurdling screams and feet thumping against the back of the seat. We pulled into the driveway, she ran to her room and locked the door, screaming. She did come out long enough to hit me, so that was festive. I managed to talk to her about her behavior, and she may have gotten it. We'll see. She has since calmed down, and is sitting here next to me building with blocks, but I am getting too old for this rollercoaster crap. And, I have no one to blame but myself.
So...I have made the rule Hard and Fast:
Thou shalt not run more than two errands in a single driving session. Two shall be the number, and the Number shall be Two. Neither shall the number be Three. Or Four. Two is the number. Or else. I'm not kidding. Flying monkeys, I needs them?
(but that says nothing to the number of drinks I get to have once the kids are in bed!)
T, who really, really needs a break
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a closet political wonk. I tried to give it up because idealism hurts too much. But I am back, and knee-deep in the issues. Sometimes though, you just have to laugh. (it was THAT kind of day) Watching the debate tonight, I was struck by the similarities of Palin to an old character that Phil Hartman used to play on Saturday Night Live. Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer.
So, with apologies to the late Phil Hartman and SNL... I present:
"Doggone it! I'm just a hockey mom. I fell on some ice and later got thawed out by some of your Republicans, who thought you would vote for me because I don't have dangly parts."
"Your world frightens and confuses me! Sometimes, the big words your journalists use make me want to run for the hills or use folksy word endings.I can't pronounce the word, "n-u-c-l-e-a-r. I say nucular. I can't answer questions that you ask, I get all discombobulated. My primitive, backwoods mind doesn't grasp these concepts. I'm only a governor from Alaska! I don't understand your strange big-city politics. I don't know the names of the people I try to affiliate myself with, I don't understand runnin' for VP, 'cause I don't have to be competent, just all friendly-like!"
But one thing I do understand: I was given a list of talking points, and you betcha I am gonna hit every one! I can't think for myself, but I can use your boomstick to hunt a moose and sure make you some good BBQ mooseburgers, a heck of a lot of 'em! Do you want to go for a ride on my scary Snow Machine? We can look for Putin rearin' his head over the ocean over there."
Watch and see if you agree: (only link I could find was here).
T, who says sometimes you have to laugh or you'll cry
Disclaimer: I don't Really cage my children....
This exchange took place on twitter today...after mentally wrestling with my children again...in exasperation I posted the following:
@sendchocolate: Some days I ask myself why I do it, and don't say, run away to Costa Rica and categorize monkeys
@sendchocolate: I already categorize monkeys, but at least in Costa Rica I wouldn't have to TEACH them. Or clean up after them
I received this reply:
@missbanshee: @sendchocolate I'M sorry, WHAT? You CATEGORIZE MONKEYS? Helloooooo, best job EVER!
And I answered:
@sendchocolate: @missbanshee it's not all it's cracked up to be. They fling poo at me. A lot. And they are disrespectful. And don't do their schoolwork.
Well, after this little exchange and a withholding of the monkey chow I am happy to say, the monkeys straightened up and now are flying right. (flying monkeys??) They finished their schoolwork and actually listened and did what I asked. In return, I let them out of their cages. Of course, in the process of getting them to do what they are supposed to do without me blowing a gasket, I probably sounded like one of those screechy monkeys you hear when you go to the zoo...I hurt my own head. No, really. I did.
I get so tired of being the bad guy around here. Why do I have to ask someone 
multiple times to get them to do what I ask? Kills me. They finally do it, but in the meantime, I am thisfar from the intellectual equivalent of flinging poo. Between two with autism and a teenager? I want to know where I go to quit. It is so much faster just to do it my own self. But if I didn't, I have a boatload of excuses to choose from...the monkeys have taught me that.
Apparently:
*it's not my fault
* I didn't get it out
*It's not mine
* I cleaned it yesterday
* the garage is scary
* I want to play
*I forrrrrgotttt
*I finished it already
*It's not my turn
*I didn't see it
*I didn't know where it went
*you wanted me to do that, too?
*I didn't hear you
*I didn't know it was my responsibility
*I have other things to do
*I am not a slave
*what would you do if I wasn't here??
*it's not on my schedule
*nobody but you cares about that
*you worry too much
*you're making more work
None of these reasons flew. (not like the monkeys, anyway!) I guess it appeared I was serious, because I didn't have to repeat myself (or fetch my flying monkeys) that much in the afternoon, and things were actually done! of course, I cried at one point, in frustration..amazing what that does to childrens' attitudes. I would suggest you use it sparingly, however. Might lose its impact. I'll let you know the next time I use it.
T, who says see how much fun we have on twitter?
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Glad you're here! I'm a freelance writer, specializing in autism, special needs and education. I freelance for numerous national publications. This is where I let it all hang out, sans editor.
